LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 







r i-J g'/. ' ' -^ 



LETTERS FROM NE¥-YORK. 



BY L. MABIA CHILD, 



AtfTHOB OF THE MOTHER'S BOOK, THE GIKL's BOOK, PHILOTHEA, 
HISTORY OF "WOMEN, ETC. 



We receive but what we give, 
And in our life alone does Nature live : 
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud ! 

And would we aught behold of higher worth 
Than that inanimate cold world, allowed 
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, 

Ah, from ihe soul itself must issue forth 
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud, 

Enveloping the Earth : 
And from the soul itself must there be sent 

A sweet and potent voice of its own birth, 
Of all sweet sounds the life and element ! 

Coleridge. 



NEW. YORK: 

CHARLES S. FRANCIS AND COMPANY, 252 BROADWAY. 

BOSTON: 

JAMES MUNROE & CO., WA S H I N GTO N- S T RE E T . 

M DCCC XLIU, 




-^ 




22 







Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1843, 
By CoNVEKS Francis, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York 




H. LUDWIG, PRINTER, 
73. Veaey -street, N. Y. 



TO 

JOHN HOPPER. 

These pages are so deeply tinged with romance 
and mysticism, that they might seem an unfit offer- 
ing to one who has the crowning merit of the 19th 
century — that of being a cautious and energetic " busi- 
ness man." But in a city of sti'angers you have been 
to me as a brother ; most of the scenes mentioned 
in these Letters w^e have visited together; and I 
know that the young lawyer, busily making his way 
in a crowded world, has not driven from his mind 
a love for nature and poetry, or closed his heart 
against a most genial sympathy for the whole family 
of man. Therefore, this volume is inscribed to you, 
with grateful friendship, by 

THE AUTHOR. 



INDEX. 



LETTER I. 

Page 

The Battery in the Morning. Streets of Modern Babylon . Street 
Musicians 1 

LETTER II. 

Washingtonian Temperance Society. Law of Love, and the 
Law of Force. Trusting each others' Honesty. The Dog- 
Killers 5 

LETTER III. 

Sectarian Walls. Ideas of God. The Poor Woman's Garden. 
Society makes the Crime it Punishes 11 

LETTER IV. 
Hoboken. Weehawken. Hamilton's Duel. Indian Sarcasm . 15 

LETTER V* 

Highland Benevolent Society. Clans and Sects ; . .21 

LETTER VI. 

The Jews. Black Jews. Old Clothes. Reading by Lamplight 
in the Day-time 25 



Tl INDEX. 

LETTER VII. 

Page 

Rev. John Summerfield. The Farmer Crazed by Speculators. 
Greenwood Cemetery. Wearing Mourning . . , .35 

LETTER VIII. 

The Shipping. Story of the Yankee Boy and his Acorn. The 
Kamschatka and Belle Poule . ^ 40 

LETTER IX. 

Ravenswood. Grant Thorbum. Lawrie Todd . . . .49 

LETTER X. 

Varieties of Character, and Changing Population of New- York. 
Anecdote of Absent Men. The Bag-pipe Player. Beautiful 
Burial of a Stranger in the Western Forest . . . .56 

LETTER XI. 

The Eloquent Coloured Preacher. Story of Zeek, the Shrewd 
Slave 7 6J 

LETTER XII. 

The New Year. Past and Future. Music written by Vibration. 
Caution to Reformers 70 

LETTER XIII. 

Scenery within the Soul. Valley de Sham. Truth in Act as 
well as Word * . 76 

LETTER XIV. 

Little Newspaper Boy. The Foreign Boys and their Mother. 
The Drunken Woman. Burying-ground for the Poor . . 82 



INDEX. iffi 

LETTER XV. 

McDonald Clarke 88 

LETTER XVI. 

A Great Fire. Jane Plato's Garden. Money is not Wealth . 98 

LETTER XVII. 

Doves in Broadway. The Dove and the Pirate. Prisoners and 
Doves. Doddridge's Dream. Genius Inspired by Holiness . 103 

LETTER XVIII. 

Origin of Manhattan. Antiquities of New- York. David Rey- 
nolds. The Fish and the Ring 109 

LETTER XIX. 

Animal Magnetism. The Soul watching its own Body. Anec- 
dote of Second Sight 118 

LETTER XX. 

The Birds. Anecdote of Petion's Daughter. The Bird, the 
Snake, and the White Ash. The Spanish Parrot. My Swal- 
lows 125 

LETTER XXI. 

Staten Island. Sailors' Snug Harbour . . . .133 

LETTER XXII* 
The Non-Resisting Colony ..*»... 137 

LETTER XXIII. 

The Florida Slave-Trader and Patriarch. Boswell's Remarks on 
the Slave-Trade. The Fixed Point of View . . . .141 



TUl INDEX. 

LETTER XXIV. 

Page 

The Red Roof. The Little Child Picking a Clover Blossom. 
Music and Fire -Works at Castle Garden . . . .150 

LETTER XXV. 

Rockland Lake. Major Andre. The Dutch Farmers . . 157 

LETTER XXVI. 

Flowers. All Being is Spirally Interlinked . . . .167 

LETTER XXVII. 

Music and Light. Instrument Invented by Guzikow. Music 
of the Planets. The Burning Bell-Tower of Hamburg. Mys- 
terious Music in Pascagoula Bay. The Mocking Bird and the 
Bob-o'-Link. The Response of Musical Instrmnents to each 
other 172 

LETTER XXVIII. 

The Little Match-Seller. Beautiful Anecdote of a Street Musi- 
cian. Anecdote of a Spanish Donkey. Horses Tamed by 
Kindness. The one Voice which brought Discord into Har- 
mony ... I8l 

LETTER XXIX. 

Blackwell's Island. Long Island Farms. Anecdote from Sylvio 
Pellico. A Model Almshouse among the Society of Friends 187 

LETTER XXX. 

Croton Water. The Fountains. Fear of Public Opinion. Social 
Freedom. The Little Boy that run away from Providence . 201 

LETTER XXXI. 

Capital Punishment. Conversation with William Ladd. Circum- 
stantial Evidence . : 207 



INDEX. iX 

LETTER XXXII. 

Mercy to Criminals. Mrs. Fry's Answer. Love-tokens from 
Friends. Made Good by being Beloved ; a still higher joy to 
love others 218 

LETTER XXXIII. 

The Catholic Chui-ch. Puseyism. Worship of Irish Labourers. 
Anecdotes of the Irish 225 

LETTER XXXIV. 

Woman's Rights 932 

LETTER XXXV. 

Lightning. Daguerreotype. Electricity. Effects of Climate . 240 
LETTER XXXVI. ♦ 

The Indians 247 

LETTER XXXVII. 
Green Old Age. Swedenborg and Fourier .... 257 

LETTER XXXVIII. 

The Snow Storm. The Cold.footed and Warm-hearted Little 
Ones 261 

LETTER XXXIX. 

The Ministrations of Sorrow 267 

LETTER XL. 

May-Day in New- York. The Storks of Nuremberg. All the 
Nations are Brethren 271 



i 



LETTERS FROM NEW-YORK 



I 



LETTERS FROM NEW-YORK, 



LETTER I. 

August 19, 1841. 

You ask what is now my opinion of this great Babylon ; 
and playfully remind me of former philippics, and a long 
string of vituperative alliterations, such as magnificence and 
mud, finery and fihh, diamonds and dirt, bullion and brass- 
tape, &c. &c. Nor do you forget my first impression of 
the city, when we arrived at early dawn, amid fog and 
drizzling rain, the expiring lamps adding their smoke to the 
impure air, and close beside us a boat called the " Fairy 
Queen," laden with dead hogs. 

Well, Babylon remains the same as then. The din of 
crowded life, and the eager chase for gain, still run through 
its streets, like the perpetual murmur of a hive. Wealth 
dozes on French couches, thrice piled, and canopied with 
damask, while Poverty camps on the dirty pavement, or 
sleeps off its wretchedness in the watch-house. There, 
amid the splendour of Broadway, sits the blind negro beg- 
gar, with horny hand and tattered garments, while opposite 
to him stands the stately mansion of the slave trader, still 
plying his bloody trade, and laughing to scorn the cobweb 
laws, through which the strong can break so easily. 

In Wall-street, and elsewhere, Mammon, as usual, coolly 
calculates his chance of extracting a penny from war, pes- 
tilence, and famine ; and Commerce, with her loaded drays, 
and jaded skeletons of horses, is busy as ever " fulfilling 
the World's contract with the Devil." The noisy discord 
of the street-cries gives the ear no rest ; and the weak 
voice of weary childhood often makes the heart ache for 

1 



2 LETTERS 

the poor little wanderer, prolonging his task far into tlie 
hours of night. Sometimes, the harsh sounds are pleasantly- 
varied by some feminine voice, proclaiming in musical ca- 
dence, " Hot corn ! hot corn !" with the poetic addition of 
" Lily white corn ! Buy my lily white corn !" When this 
sweet, wandering voice salutes my ear, my heart replies — 

'Tis a glancing gleam o' the gift of song — 
And the soul that speaks hath suffered wrong. 

There was a time when all these things would have 
passed by me, like the flitting figures of the magic lantern, 
or the changing scenery of a theatre, sufficient for the 
amusement of an hour. But now, I have lost the power of 
looking merely on the surface. Every thing seems to me 
to come from the Infinite, to be filled with the Infinite, to be 
tending toward the Infinite. Do I see crowds of men 
hastening to extinguish a fire? I see not merely uncouth 
garbs, and fantastic, flickering lights, of lurid hue, like a 
tramping troop of gnomes, — but straightway my mind 
is filled with thoughts about mutual helpfulness, human 
sympathy, the common bond of brotherhood, and the mys- 
teriously deep foundations on which society rests ; or rather, 
on which it now reels and totters. 

But I am cutting the lines deep, when I meant only to 
give you an airy, unfinished sketch. I will answer your 
question, by saying that, though New-York remains the 
same, I like it better. This is partly because I am like 
the Lady's Delight, ever prone to take root, and look up 
with a smile, in whatever soil you place it ; and partly be- 
cause bloated disease, and black gutters, and pigs uglier 
than their ugly kind, no longer constitute the foreground in 
my picture of New-York. I have become more familiar 
with the pretty parks, dotted about here and there ; with 
the shaded alcoves of the various public gardens ; with 
blooming nooks, and " sunny spots of greenery." I am 



FROM NEW-YORK. 3 

fast inclining to the belief, that the Battery rivals our beau- 
tiful Boston Common. The fine old trees are indeed want- 
ing; but the newly-planted groves offer the light, flexile 
gracefulness of youth, to compete with their matured ma- 
jesty of age. In extent, and variety of surface, this noble 
promenade is greatly inferior to ours ; but there is, 

*' The sea, the sea, the open sea ; 
The fresh, the bright, the ever free !" 

Most fitting symbol of the Infinite, this trackless pathway 
of a world ! heaving and stretching to meet the sky it never 
reaches — like the eager, unsatisfied aspirations of the human 
soul. The most beautiful landscape is imperfect without 
this featm-e. In the eloquent language of Lamartine, '' The 
sea is to the scenes of nature what the eye is to a fine 
countenance ; it illuminates them, it imparts to them that 
radiant physiognomy, which makes them live, speak, en- 
chant, and fascinate the attention of those who contemplate 
them." 

If you deem me heretical in preferring the Battery to 
the Common, consecrated by so many pleasant associations 
of my youth, I know you v/ill forgive me, if you will go 
there in the silence of midnight, to meet the breeze on 
your cheek, like the kiss of a friend : to hear the continual 
plashing of the sea, like the cool sound of oriental foun- 
tains ; to see the moon look lovingly on the sea-nymphs, 
and throw down wealth of jewels on their shining hair ; to 
look on the ships in their dim and distant beauty, each 
containing within itself, a little world of human thought, 
and human passion. Or go, when " night, with her 
thousand eyes, looks down into the heart, making it also 
great " — when she floats above us, dark and solemn, and 
scarcely sees her image in the black mirror of the ocean. 
The city lamps surround you, like a shining belt of de- 
scended constellations, fit for the zone of Urania ; while 



4 LETTERS 

the pure bright stars peep through the dancing foliage, and 
speak to the soul of thoughtful shepherds on the ancient 
plains of Chaldea. And there, like mimic Fancy, playing 
fantastic freaks in the very presence of heavenly Imagina- 
tion, stands Castle Garden — with its gay perspective of 
coloured lamps, like a fairy grotto, where imprisoned fire- 
spirits send up sparkling wreaths, or rockets laden with 
glittering ear-drops, caught by the floating sea-nymphs, as 
they fall. 

But if you would see the Battery in all its glory, look at 
it when, through the misty mantle of retreating dawn, is 
seen the golden light of the rising sun ! Look at the hori- 
zon, where earth, sea, and sky, kiss each other, in robes of 
reflected glory ! The ships stretch their sails to the coming 
breeze, and glide majestically along — fit and graceful em- 
blems of the Past ; steered by Necessity ; the Will con- 
strained by outward Force. Quick as a flash, the steam- 
boat passes them by — its rapidly revolving wheel made 
golden by the sunlight, and dropping diamonds to the laugh- 
ing Nereids, profusely as pearls from Prince Esterhazy's 
embroidered coat. In that steamer, see you not an appro- 
priate type of the busy, powerful, self-conscious Present ? 
Of man's Will conquering outward Force ; and thus making 
the elements his servants ? 

From this southern extremity of the city, anciently called 
" The Wall of the Half-Moon," you may, if you like, pass 
along the Bowery to Bloomingdale, on the north. What a 
combination of flowery sounds to take captive the imagi- 
nation ! It is a pleasant road, much used for fashionable 
drives ; but the lovely names scarcely keep the promise 
they give the ear ; especially to one accustomed to the 
beautiful environs of Boston. 

During your ramble, you may meet wandering musicians. 
Perhaps a poor Tyrolese with his street-organ, or a Scotch 
lad, with shrill bag-pipe, decorated with tartan ribbons. 



FR'OM NEW. YORK. B 

Let them who will, despise their humble calling. Small 
skill, indeed, is needed to grind forth that machinery of 
sounds ; but my heart salutes them with its benison, in 
common with all things that cheer this weary world. I 
have little sympathy with the severe morality that drove 
these tuneful idlers from the streets of Boston. They are 
to the drudging city, what Spring birds are to the country. 
The world has passed from its youthful, Troubadour Age, 
into the thinking, toiling Age of Reform. This we may 
not regret, because it needs must be. But welcome, most 
welcome, all that brings back reminiscences of its child- 
hood, in the cheering voice of poetry and song ! 

Therefore blame me not, if I turn wearily aside from the 
dusty road of reforming duty, to gather flowers in sheltered 
nooks, or play with gems in hidden grottoes. The Practi- 
cal has striven hard to suffocate the Ideal within me ; but 
it is immortal, and cannot die. It needs but a glance of 
Beauty from earth or sky, and it starts into blooming life, 
like the aloe touched by fairy wand. 



LETTER II. 

August 26, 1841. 

You think my praises of the Battery exaggerated ; per- 
haps they are so ; but there are three points on which I am 
crazy — music, moonlight, and the sea. There are other 
points, greatly differing from these, on which most Ameri- 
can juries would be prone to convict me of insanity. You 
know a New-York lawyer defined insanity to be " a differ- 
ing in opinion from the mass of mankind." By this rule, 
I am as mad as a March hare ; though, as Andrew Fair- 
service said, " Why a hare should be more mad in March 
than at Michaelmas, is more than I ken." 

I admit that Boston, in her extensive and airy Common, 



6 LETTERS 

possesses a blessing unrivalled by an}^otlier city ; but I am 
not the less disposed to be thankful for the circumscribed, 
but well-shaded limits of the Washington Parade Ground, 
and Union Park, with its nicely trimmed circle of hedge, 
its well-rolled gravel walks, and its velvet greensward, 
shaven as smooth as a Quaker beau. The exact order of its 
arrangement would be offensive in the country ; and even 
here, the eye of taste would prefer variations, and undula- 
tion of outline ; but trimness seems more in place in a city, 
than amid the graceful confusion of nature ; and neatness 
has a charm in New- York, by reason of its exceeding rari- 
ty. St. John's Park, though not without pretensions to 
beauty, never strikes my eye agreeably, because it is shut 
up from the people ; the key being kept by a few genteel 
families in the vicinity. You know I am an enemy to mo= 
nopolies ; wishing all Heaven's good gifts to man to be as 
free as the wind, and as universal as the sunshine. 

I like the various small gardens in New- York, with their 
shaded alcoves of lattice-work, where one can eat an ice- 
cream, shaded from the sun. You have none such in Bos- 
ton ; and they would probably be objected to, as open to 
the vulgar and the vicious. I do not walk through the 
world with such fear of soiling my garments. Let science, 
literature, music, flowers, all things that tend to cultivate 
the intellect, or humanize the heart, be open to " Tom, 
Dick, and Harry ;" and thus, in process of time, they will 
become Mr. Thomas, Richard, and Henry. In all these 
things, the refined should think of what they can impart, 
not of what they can receive. 

As for the vicious, they excite in me more of compassion 
than of dislike. The Great Searcher of Hearts alone 
knows whether I should not have been as they are, with the 
same neglected childhood, the same vicious examples, the 
same overpowering temptation of misery and want. If they 
will but pay to virtue the outward homage of decorum, God 



FROM NEW-YORK. 7 

forbid that I should wish to exckide them from the health- 
ful breeze, and the shaded promenade. Wretched enough 
are they in their utter degradation ; nor is society so guilt- 
less of their ruin, as to justify any of its members in un- 
pitying scorn. 

And this reminds me that in this vast emporium of pover- 
ty and crime, there are, morally speaking, some flowery 
nooks, and "sunny spots of greenery." I used to say, I 
knew not where were the ten righteous men to save the 
city; but I have found them now. Since then, The Wash- 
ington Temperance Society has been organized, and 
active in good works. Apart from the physical puri- 
ty, the triumph of soul over sense, implied in abstinence 
from stimulating liquors, these societies have peculiarly 
interested me, because they are based on the Law of Lovc. 
The Pure is inlaid in the Holy, like a pearl set in fine 
gold. Here is no " fifteen-gallon-law," no attendance i^on 
the lobbies of legislatures, none of the bustle or manoeuvres 
of political party ; measures as useless in the moral world, 
as machines to force water above its level are in the physi- 
cal world. Serenely above all these, stands this new Ge- 
nius of Temperance ; her trust in Heaven, her hold on the 
human heart. To the fallen and the perishing she throvv^s 
a silken cord, and gently draws him within the golden cir- 
cle of human brotherhood. She has learned that persua- 
sion is mightier than coercion, that the voice of encourage- 
ment finds an echo in the heart deeper, far deeper, than the 
thunder of reproof. 

The blessing of the perishing, and of the merciful God, 
who cares for them, will rest upon the Washington Tem- 
perance Society. A short time since, one of its members 
found an old acquaintance lying asleep in a dirty alley, 
scarcely covered with filthy rags, pinned and tied together. 
Being waked, the poor fellow exclaimed, in piteous tones, 
" Oh don't take me to the Police Ofiice — Please don't take 



8 LETTERS 

me there." " Oh, no," replied the missionary of mercy ; 
" you shall have shoes to your feet, and a decent coat on 
your back, and be a Man again ! We have better work for 
you to do, than to lie in prison. You will be a Temperance 
preacher, yet." 

He was comfortably clothed, kindly encouraged, and 
employment procured for him at the printing office of the 
AVashington Society. He now works steadily all day, and 
preaches temperance in the evening. Every week I hear 
of similar instances. Are not these men enough to save a 
city? This Society is one among several powerful agencies 
now at work, to teach society that it makes its own criminals^ 
and then, at prodigious loss of time, money, and morals, 
punishes its own work. 

The other day, I stood by the wayside while a Wash- 
ingtonian procession, two miles long, passed by. All 
classes and trades were represented, with appropriate mu- 
sic and banners. Troops of boys carried little wells and 
pumps ; and on many of the banners were flowing fountains 
and running brooks. One represented a wife kneeling in 
gratitude for a husband restored to her and himself; on 
another, a group of children were joyfully embracing the 
knees of a reformed father. Fire companies were there 
with badges and engines ; and military companies, Aviih 
gaudy colours and tinsel trappings. Toward the close, 
came two barouches, containing the men who first started 
a Temperance Society on the Washingtonian plan. These 
six individuals were a carpenter, a coach-maker, a tailor, a 
blacksmith, a wheelwright, and a silver-plater. They held 
their meetings in a carpenter's shop, in Baltimore, before 
any other person took an active part in the reform. My 
heart paid them reverence, as they passed. It was a 
beautiful pageant, and but one thing was wanting to make 
it complete ; there should have been carts drawn by gar- 
landed oxen, filled with women and little children, bearing 



FROM NEW-YORK. 9 

a banner, on which was inscribed, we are happy 
NOW ! I missed the women and the children ; for with- 
out something to represent the genial influence of domestic 
life, the circle of joy and hope is ever incomplete. 

But the absent ones were present to my mind ; and the 
pressure of many thoughts brought tears to my eyes. I 
seemed to see John the Baptist preparing a pathway through 
the wilderness for the coming of the Holiest ; for like unto 
his is this mission of temperance. Clean senses are fitting 
vessels for pure affections and lofty thoughts. 

Within the outward form I saw, as usual, spiritual signi- 
ficance. As the bodies of men were becoming weaned 
from stimulating drinks, so were their souls beginning to 
approach those pure fountains of living water, which refresh 
and strengthen, but never intoxicate. The music, too, was 
revealed to me in fulness of meaning. Much of it was of 
a military character, and cheered onward to combat and to 
victory. Everything about war I loathe and detest, except 
its music. My heart leaps at the trumpet-call, and marches 
with the drum. Because I cannot ever hate it, I know that 
it is the utterance of something good, perverted to a minis- 
try of sin. It is the voice of resistance to evil, of combat 
with the false ; therefore the brave soul springs forward at 
the warlike tone, for in it is heard a call to its appointed 
mission. Whoso does not see that genuine life is a battle 
and a march, has poorly read his origin and his destiny. 
Let the trumpet sound, and the drums roll ! Glory to re- 
sistance ! for through its agency men become angels. The 
instinct awakened by martial music is noble and true ; and 
therefore its voice will not pass away ; but it will cease to 
represent war with carnal weapons, and remain a type of 
that spiritual combat, whereby the soul is purified. It is 
right noble to fight with wickedness and wrong; the mis- 
take is in supposing that spiritual evil can be overcome by 
physical means. 
1* 



10 LETTERS 

Would tliat Force were banished to the unholy region, 
whence it came, and that men would learn to trust more 
fully in the law of kindness. I think of this, every time I 
pass a dozing old woman, who, from time immemorial, has 
sat behind a fruit stall at the corner of St. Paul's church. 
Half the time she is asleep, and the wonder is that any 
fruit remains upon her board ; but in this wicked city very 
many of the boys deposit a cent, as they take an apple ; for 
they have not the heart to wrong one who trusts them, 

A sea-captain of my acquaintance, lately returned from 
China, told me that the Americans and English were much 
more trusted by the natives, than their own countrymen ; 
that the fact of belonging to those nations was generally 
considered good security in a bargain. I expressed sur- 
prise at this ; not supposing the Yankees, or their ancestors, 
were peculiarly distinguished for generosity in trade. He 
replied, that they were more so in China, than at home ; 
because, in the absence of adequate laws, and legal penal- 
ties, they had acquired the habit of trusting in each others* 
honour and honesty ; and this formed a bond so sacred, that 
few were willing to break it. I saw deep significance in 
the fact. 

Speaking of St. Paul's church, near the Astor House, re- 
minds me of the fault so often found by foreigners with our 
light grey stone, as a material for Gothic edifices. Though 
this church is not Gothic, I now understand v/hy such build- 
ings contrast disadvantageously with the dark colored ca- 
thedrals of Europe. St. Paul's has lately been covered 
with a cement of dark, reddish-brown sand. Some com- 
plain that it looks "like gingerbread;" but for myself, I 
greatly like the depth of colour. Its steeple now stands re- 
lieved against the sky, with a sombre grandeur, which 
would be in admirable keeping with the massive propor- 
tions of Gothic architecture. Grey and slate colour appro- 
priately belong to lighter styles of building 5 applied to the 



FROM NEW-YORK. 11 

Gothic, they become like tragic thoughts uttered in mirthful 
tones. 

The disagreeables of New-York, I deliberately mean to 
keep out of sight, when I write to you. By contemplating 
beauty, the character becomes beautiful ; and in this weari- 
some world, I deem it a duty to speak genial words, and 
wear cheerful looks. 

Yet, for once, I will depart from this rule, to speak of the 
dog-killers. Twelve or fifteen hundred of these animals 
have been killed this summer ; in the hottest of the weath- 
er at the rate of three hundred a day. The safety of the 
city doubtless requires their expulsion ; but the manner of 
it strikes me as exceedingly cruel and demoralizing. The 
poor creatures are knocked down on the pavement, and 
beat to death. Sometimes they are horribly maimed, and 
run howling and limping away. The company of dog- 
killers themselves are a frightful sight, with their bloody 
clubs, and spattered garments. I always run from the win- 
dow when I hear them ; for they remind me of the Reign of 
Terror. Whether such brutal scenes do not prepare the 
minds of the young to take part in bloody riots and revolu- 
tions is a serious question. 

You promised to take my letters as they happened to 
come — fanciful, gay, or serious. I am in autumnal mood 
to-day, therefore forgive the sobriety of my strain. 



LETTER III. 

* September 2, 1841. 

Oh, these damp, sultry days of August ! how oppressive 
they are to mind and body 1 The sun staring at you from 
bright red walls, like the shining face of a heated cook. 
Strange to say they are painted red, blocked off with white 



12 LETTERS 

compartments, as numerous as Protestant sects, and as un- 
lovely in their narrowness. What an expenditure for ugli- 
ness and discomfort to the eye ! To paint bricks their own 
color, resembles the great outlay of time and money in 
theological schools, to enable dismal, arbitrary souls to give 
an approved image of themselves in their ideas of Deity. 

After all, the God tvithin us is the God we really believe 
in, whatever we may have learned in catechisms or creeds. 

Hence to some, the divine image presents itself habitu- 
ally as a dark, solemn shadow, saddening the gladsomeness 
of earth, like thunder-clouds reflected on the fair mirror of 
the sea. To others, the religious sentiment is to the soul 
what Spring is in the seasons, flowers to the eye, and music 
to the ear. In the greatest proportion of minds these sen- 
timents are mixed, and therefore two images are reflected, 
one to be worshipped with love, the other with fear. 

Hence, in Catholic countries, you meet at one corner of 
the road frightfully painted hell-fires, into which poor strug- 
gling human souls are sinking ; and at another, the sweet 
Madonna, with her eye of pity and her lip of love. When- 
ever God appears to the eye of faith as terrible in power, 
and stern in vengeance, the soul craves some form of me- 
diation, and satisfies its want. As the reprobate college- 
boy trusts to a mother's persuasive love to intercede for him 
with an angry father, so does the Catholic, terrified with 
visions of torment, look up trustingly to the " Blessed moth- 
er, Virgin mild." 

Not lightly, or scornfully, would I speak of any such 
manifestations of faith, childish as they may appear to the 
eye of reason. The Jewish dispensation was announced 
in thunder and lightning ; the Christian, by a chorus of love 
from angel voices. The dark shadow of the one has fear- 
fully thrown itself across the mild radiance of the other. 
Those old superstitious times could not well do otherwise 
than mix their dim theology with the new-born glorious 



FROM NEW. YORK. l^ 

hope. Well may we rejoice that they could not transmit 
the blessed Idea completely veiled in gloom. Since the 
Past will overlap upon the Present, and therefore Chris- 
tianity must slowly evolve itself from Judaism, let us at 
least be thankful that, 

" From the same grim turret fell 
The sliadoio and the so7ig.^' 
Whence came all this digression? It has as little to do 
with New-York, as a seraph has to do with Banks and 
Markets. Yet in good truth, it all came from a painted 
brick wall staring in at my chamber window. What a 
strange thing is the mind ! How marvellously is the infi- 
nite embodied in the smallest fragment of the finite ! 

It was ungrateful in me to complain of those walls, for 
I am more blest in my prospect than most inhabitants of 
cities ; even without allowing for the fact that more than 
most others, I always see much within a landscape — " a 
light and a revealing," every where. 

Opposite to me is a little, little, patch of garden, trimly 
kept, and neatly white-washed. In the absence of rippling 
brooks and blooming laurel, I am thankful for its marigolds 
and poppies, 

"side by side, 

And at each end a hollyhock, 
With an edge of London Pride." 
And then between me and the sectarian brick wallj there 
are, moreover, two beautiful young trees. An Ailanthus 
twisting its arms lovingly within its smaller sister Catal- 
pa. One might almost imagine them two lovely nymphs 
suddenly transformed to trees in the midst of a graceful, 
twining dance. I should be half reluctant to cut a cluster 
of the beautiful crimson seed-vessels, lest I should wound 
the finger of some Hamadryad, 

*' Those simple crown- twisters, 
Who of one favorite tree in some sweet spot, 
Make home and leave it not." 



14 LETTERS 

But I must quit this strain ; or you will say the fair, float- 
ing Grecian shadow casts itself too obviously over my 
Christianity. Perchance, you will even call me " trans- 
cendental ;" that being a word of most elastic signification, 
used to denote every thing that has no name in particular, 
and that does not especially relate to pigs and poultry. 

Have patience with me, and I will come straight back 
from the Ilissus to New- York thus. 

You too, would worship two little trees and a sunflower, 
if you had gone with me to the neighbourhood of the Five 
Points the other day. Morally snd physically, the breath- 
ing air was like an open tomb. How souls or bodies 
could live there^, I could not imagine. If you want to see 
something worse than Hogarth's Gin Lane, go there in a 
warm afternoon, when the poor wretches have come to 
what they call home, and are not yet driven within doors, by 
darkness and constables. There you will see nearly every 
form of human misery, every sign of human degradation. 
The leer of the licentious, the dull sensualism of the drunk- 
ard, the sly glance of the thief — oh, it made my heart ache 
for many a day. I regretted the errand of kindness that 
drew me there ; for it stunned my senses with the amount 
of evil, and fell upon the strong hopefulness of my charac- 
ter, like a stroke of the palsy. What a place to ask one's 
self, " Will the millenium ever come !'' 

And there were multitudes of children — of little girls. 
Where were their guardian angels ? God be praised, the 
wilfully committed sin alone shuts out their influence ; and 
therefore into the young child's soul they may always 
enter. 

Mournfully, I looked upon these young creatures, as I 
said within myself, ** And this is the education society gives 
her children— the morality of myrmidons, the charity of 
constables!" Yet in the far-oflf Future I saw a gleam. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 15 

For these too Christ has died. For these was the chorus 
sung over the hills of Judea ; and the heavenly music will 
yet find an echo deep in their hearts. 

It is said a spacious pond of sweet, soft water once oc- 
cupied the place where Five Points stands. It might have 
furnished half the city with the purifying element ; but it 
was filled up at incredible expense — a million loads of 
earth being thrown in, before perceivable progress was 
made. Now, they have to supply the city with water from 
a distance, by the prodigious expense of the Croton Water 
Works. 

This is a good illustration of the policy of society to- 
ward crime. Thus does it choke up nature, and then seek 
to protect itself from the result, by the incalculable expense 
of bolts, bars, the gallows, watch-houses, police courts, con- 
stables, and " Egyptian tombs," as they call one of the 
principal prisons here. If viewed only as a blunder^ Satan 
might well laugh at the short-sightedness of the world, all 
the while toiling to build the edifice it thinks it is demolish- 
ing. Destroying violence by violence, cunning by cunning, 
is Sisyphus' work, and must be so to the end. Never shall 
we bring the angels among us, by " setting one devil up to 
knock another devil down ;" as the old woman said, in 
homely but expressive phrase. 



LETTER IV. 

September 9, 1841. 

New-York enjoys a great privilege, in facility and cheap- 
ness of communication with many beautiful places in the vi- 
cinity. For six cents one can exchange the hot and dusty city, 
for Staten Island, Jersey, or Hoboken j three cents will con- 



10 LETTERS 

vey you to Brooklyn, and twelve and a half cents pays for a 
most beautiful sail of ten miles, to Fort Lee. In addition 
to the charm of rural beauty, all these places are bathed by 
deep waters. 

The Indians, named the most beautiful lake of New Eng- 
land Win-ne-pe-sauk-ey, (by corruption, Winnepiseogee, 
which means, the Smile of the Great Spirit. I always think 
of this name, so expressively poetic, whenever I see sun- 
beams or moonbeams glancing on the waves. 

Because this feature is wanting in the landscape, I think 
our beautiful Massachusetts Brookline, — with its graceful, 
feathery elms, its majestic old oaks, its innumerable hidden 
nooks of greenery, and Jamaica pond, that lovely, lucid mir- 
ror of the water nymphs, — is scarcely equal to Hoboken. 
I saw it for the first time in the early verdure of spring, and 
under the mild light of a declining sun. A small open 
glade, with natural groves in the rear, and the broad river at 
its foot, bears the imposing name of Elysian Fields. The 
scene is one where a poet's disembodied spirit might be 
well content to wander ; but, alas, the city intrudes her vices 
into this beautiful sanctuary of nature. There stands a pub- 
lic house, with its bar room, and bowling alley, a place of 
resort for the idle and the profligate ; kept within the bounds 
of decorum, however, by the constant presence of respecta- 
ble visiters. 

Near this house, I found two tents of Indians. These 
children of the forest, like the monks of olden time, always 
had a fine eye for the picturesque. Wherever you find a 
ruined monastery, or the remains of an Indian encampment, 
you may be sure you have discovered the loveliest site in 
all the surrounding landscape. 

A fat little pappoose, round as a tub, with eyes like black 
beads, attracted my attention by the comical awkwardness 
of its tumbling movements. I entered into conversation 
with the parents, and found they belonged to the remnant of 



FROM NEW-YORK. 17 

the Penobscot tribe. This, as Scott says, was " picking up 
a dropped stitch" in the adventures of my life. 

" Ah," said I, "I once ate supper with your tribe in a 
hemlock forest, on the shores of the Kennebec. Is the old 
chief, Capt. Neptune, yet alive ?" 

They almost clapped their hands with delight, to find one 
who remembered Capt. Neptune. I inquired for Etalexis, 
his nephew, and this was to them another familiar word, 
which it gave them joy to hear. 

Long forgotten scenes were restored to memory, and the 
images of early youth stood distinctly before me. I seem- 
ed to see old Neptune and his handsome nephew, a tall, 
athletic youth, of most graceful proportions. I always used 
to think of Etalexis, when I read of Benjamin West's ex- 
clamation, the first time he saw the Apollo Belvidere : "My 
God ! how like a young Mohawk warrior !" 

But for years I had not thought of the majestic young In- 
dian, until the meeting in Hoboken again brought him to 
my mind. I seemed to see him as I saw him last — the 
very dandy of his tribe — with abroad band of shining brass 
about his hat, a circle of silver on his breast, tied with scar- 
let ribbons, and a long belt of curiously-wrought wampum 
hanging to his feet. His imcle stood quietly by, puffing 
his pipe, undisturbed by the consciousness of wearing a 
crushed hat and a dirty blanket. With girlish curiosity, I 
raised the heavy tassels of the wampum belt, and said play- 
fully to the old man, " Why don't you wear such an one as 
this !" 

'* What for me wear ribbons and beads ?" he replied : 
" Me no want to catch 'em squaw.'^ 

Ho spoke in the slow, imperturbable tone of his race ; but 
there was a satirical twinkle in his small black eye, as if he 
had sufficiently learned the tricks of civilization to enjoy 
mightily any jokes upon women. 

We purchased a basket in the Elysian Fields, as a me- 



18 LETTERS 

mento of these ghosts of the Past : preferring an unfinished 
one of pure white willow, unprofaned by daubs of red and 
yellow. 

Last week I again saw Hoboken in the full glory of moon- 
light. Seen thus, it is beautiful beyond imagining. The 
dark, thickly shaded groves, where flickering shadows, play 
fantastic gambols with the moonlight; the water peeping here 
and there through the foliage, like the laughing face of a 
friend ; the high, steep banks, w^ooded down to the margin 
of the river, ; the deep loneliness, interrupted only by the 
Katy-dids ; all conspired to produce an impression of solemn 
beauty. 

If you follow this path for about three miles from the land- 
ing-place, you arrive at Weehawken ; celebrated as the place 
where Ham.ilton fought his fatal duel with Burr, and where 
his son likewise fell in a duel the year preceding. The place 
is difficult of access ; but hundreds of men and women have 
there engraven their names on a rock nearly as hard as ad- 
amant. A monument to Hamilton was here erected at con- 
siderable expense ; but it became the scene of such frequent 
duels, that the gentlemen who raised it caused it to be bro- 
ken into fragments ; it is still, however, frequented for the 
same bad purpose. What a lesson to distinguished men to 
be careful of the moral influence they exert ! I probably 
admire Hamilton with less enthusiasm than those who fully 
sympathize with his conservative tendencies ; but I find so 
much to reverence in the character of this early friend of 
Washington, that I can never sufiiciently regret the silly 
cowardice which led himin to so fatal an error. Yet would I 
speak of it gently, as Pierpont does in his political poem : 

" Wert thou spotless in thy exit ? Nay : 
Nor spotless is the monarch of the day. 
Still but one cloud shall o'er thy fame be cast-=- 
And that shall shade no action, but thy last." 



FROM NEW-YORK. 19 

A fine statue of Hamilton was wrought by Ball Hughes, 
which, like all resemblances of him, forcibly reminded one 
of William Pitt, It was placed in the Exchange, in Wall 
street, and was crushed into atoms by the falling in of the 
roof, at the great fire of 1835. The artist stood gazing on 
the scene with listless despair ; and when this favourite pro- 
duction of his genius, on which he had bestowed the labour 
of two long years, fell beneath the ruins, he sobbed and 
wept like a child. 

The little spot at Weehawken, which led to this digres- 
sion about Hamilton, is one of the last places which should 
be desecrated by the evil passions of man. It is as lovely 
as a nook of Paradise, before Satan entered its gardens. 
Where the steep, well wooded bank descends to the broad, 
bright Hudson, half way dov/n is a level glade of verdant 
grass, completely embowered in foliage. The sparkling 
water peeps between the twining boughs, like light through 
the rich tracery of Gothic windows ; and the cheerful twit- 
tering of birds alone mingles with the measured cadence of 
Ihe plashing waves. Here Hamilton fought his duel, just 
as the sun was rising : 

" Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue 
Of Summer's sky, in beauty bending o'er him — 
The city bright below ; and far away, 
Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay." 

•' Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement. 
And banners floating in the sunny air, 
And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent, 
Green isle and circling shore, all blended there, 
In wild reality." 

We descended, to return to the steamboat, by an open 
path on the river's edge. The high bank, among whose 
silent groves we had been walking, now rose above our 
heads in precipitous masses of rugged stone, here and there 
broken into recesses, which, in the evening light, looked 



20 LETTERS 

like darksome caverns. Trees bent over the very edge of the 
summit, and their unearthed roots twisted among the rocks 
like huge serpents. On the other side lay the broad Hud- 
son in the moonlight, its waves rippling up to the shore with 
a cool, refreshing sound. 

All else was still — still — so fearfully still, that one might 
almost count the beatings of the heart. That my heart did 
beat, I acknowledge ; for here was the supposed scene of 
the Mary Rogers' tragedy ; and though the recollection of 
her gave me no uneasiness, I could not forget that quiet, 
lovely path we were treading was near to the city, with its 
thousand hells, and frightfully easy of access. 

We spoke of the murdered girl, as we passed the beauti- 
ful promontory near the Sybil's cave, where her body was 
found, lying half in and half out of the water. A few steps 
further on, we encountered the first human beings we had 
met during the whole of our long ramble — two young wo- 
men, singing with a somewhat sad constraint, as if to keep 
their courage up. 

I had visited the Sybil's cave in the day time ; and should 
have entered its dark mouth by the moonlight, had not the 
aforesaid remembrances of the city haunted me like evil 
spirits. 

We Americans, you know, are so fond of classic names 
that we call a village Athens, if it has but three houses, 
painted red to blush for their own ugliness. Whence this 
cave derives its imposing title I cannot tell. It is in 
fact rather a pretty little place, cut out of soft stone, in rude 
imitation of a Gothic interior. A rock in the centre, scoop- 
ed out like a baptismal font, contains a spring of cool, sweet 
water. The entire labour of cutting out this cave was per- 
formed by one poor Scotchman, with chisel and hammer. 
He worked upon it an entire year ; and probably could not 
have completed it in less than six months, had he given 
every day of his time. He expected to derive considera- 



FROM NEW- YORK o 21 

ble profit by selling draughts from the spring, and keeping 
a small fruit stand near it. But alas, for the vanity of hu- 
man expectations ! a few weeks after he completed his la- 
borious task, he was driven off the grounds, it is said, un- 
requited by the proprietor. 

A little before nine, we returned to the city. There was 
a strong breeze, and the boat bounded over the waves, pro- 
ducing that delightful sensation of elasticity and vigour which 
one feels when riding a free and fiery steed. The moon, 
obscured by fleecy clouds, shone with a saddened glory ; 
rockets rose from Castle Garden, and dropped their blazing 
jewels on the billowy bosom of the bay ; the lamps of the 
city gleamed in the distance ; and with painful pity for the 
houseless street-wanderer, I gratefully remembered that one 
of those distant lights illuminated a home, where true and 
honest hearts were ever ready to bid me welcome. 



LETTER V. 

September 16, 1841. 

Since I wrote last, I have again visited Hoboken to see 
a band of Scotchmen in the old Highland costume. They 
belong to a Benevolent Society for the relief of indigent 
countrymen ; and it is their custom to meet annually in 
Gaelic dress, to run, leap, hurl stones, and join in other 
Highland exercises — in fond remembrance of 

"Tlie land of rock and glen, 
Of strath, and lake, and mountain, 
And more of gifted men." 

There were but thirty or forty in number, and a very 
small proportion of them fine specimens of manhood. There 
was one young man, however, who was no bad sample of 



22 LETTERS 

a brave young chief in the olden time ; witli athletic frame, 
frank countenance, bold bearing, and the bright, eager eye 
of one familiar with rugged hills and the mountain breeze. 
Before I was told, my eye singled him out, as most likely 
to bear away the prizes in the games. There was mettle 
in him, that in another age and in another clime, would have 
enabled him to stand beside brave old Torquil of the Oak, 
and give the cheerful response, " Bas air son Eachin,'^^ 
(Death for Hector.) 

But that age has past, blessed be God ; and he was no- 
thing more than a handsome, vigorous Scotch emigrant, 
skilful in Highland games. 

The dresses in general, like the wardrobe of a theatre, 
needed the eftect of distance to dazzle the imagination ; 
though two or three of them were really elegant. Green 
or black velvet, with glittering buttons, was fitted close to 
the arms and waist ; beneath which fell the tartan kilt in 
ample folds ; from the left shoulder flowed a long mantle of 
bright-coloured plaid, chosen according to the varieties of 
individual taste, not as distinguishing marks of ancestral 
clans. Their shaggy pouches, called sporrans^ were of 
plush or fur. From the knee to the ancle, there was no 
other covering than the Highland buskin of crimson plaid. 
One or two had dirks with sheaths and hilts beautifully 
embossed in silver, and ornamented with large crystals 
from Cairngorm ; St. Andrew and the thistle, exquisitely 
wrought on the blades of polished steel. 

These were exceptions ; for, as I have said, the corps in 
general had a theatrical appearance ; nor can I say they 
bore their standards, or unsheathed their claymores, with a 
grace quite sufficient to excite my imagination. Two boys, 
of eight or ten years old, who carried the tassels of the cen- 
tral banner, in complete Highland costume, pleased me more 
than all the others ; for children rcceiA-e gracefulness from 
nature, and learn awkwardness of men, 



FROM NEW-YORK. 23 

But thougli there were many accompaniments to render 
the scene common-place and vulgar, yet it was not with- 
out pleasurable excitement, slightly tinged with romance, 
that I followed them along the steep banks of Hoboken, and 
caught glimpses of them between the tangled foliage of the 
trees, or the sinuosities of rocks, almost as rugged as their 
own mountain-passes. Banners and mantles, which might 
not have borne too close inspection, looked graceful as they 
floated so far beneath me ; and the sound of the bagpipes 
struck less harshly on my ear, than when the musicians 
stood at my side. But even softened by distance, I thought 
the shrill wailing of this instrument appropriate only to 
Clan Chattan, whose Chief was called Mohr ar chat, or the 
Great Cat. 

As a phantom of the Past, this little pageant interested 
me extremely. I thought of the hatred of those fierce old 
clans, whose •' blood refused to mix, even if poured into 
the same vessel." They were in the State what sects are 
in the Church — narrow, selfish, and vindictive. 

The State has dissolved her clans, and the Cburch is 
fast following the good example ; though there are still sec- 
taries castins: their shadows on the sunshine of God's 
earth, who, if they were to meet on the Devil's Bridge, as 
did the two old feudal chieftains of Scotland, would, like 
them, choose death rather than humble prostration for the 
safe foot-path of an enemy. 

Clans have forgotten old quarrels, and not only mingled 
together, but with a hostile nation. National pride and na- 
tional glory is but a more extended clanship, destined to be 
merged in universal love for the human race. Then* fare- 
well to citadels and navies, tarifls and diplomatists ; for the 
prosperity oi each will be the prosperity of all. 

In religion, too, the spirit of extended, as well as of narrow 
clanship will cease. Not only will Christianity forget its 
minor subdivisions, but it will itself cGRse to be sectarian. 



24 LETTERS 

That only will be a genuine " World's Convention," wten 
Christians, with reverent tenderness for the religious sen- 
timent in every form, are willing that Mohammedans or Pa- 
gans should unite with them in every good work, without 
abstaining from ceremonies which to them are sacred. 

" The Turks,'' says Lamartine, " always manifest re- 
spect for what other men venerate and adore. Wherever a 
Mussulman sees the image of God in the opinion of his fel- 
low-creatures, he bows down and he respects ; persuaded 
that the intention sanctifies the form. ^' 

This sentiment of reverence, so universal among Mo- 
hammedans, and so divine in its character, might well lead 
Pierpont to ask, when standing in the burying-ground of 
Constantinople, 



-" If all that host, 



Whose turbaned marbles o'er them nod 

Were doomed, when giving up the ghost, 

To die as those who have no God ? 

No, no, my God ! They worshipped Thee ; 

Then let not doubts my spirit darken, 

That Thou, who always hearest me, 

To these, thy children too, didst hearken." 

The world, regenerated and made free, will at last bid a glad 
farewell to clans and sects ! Would that their graves were 
dug and their requiems sung ; and nothing but their stand- 
ards and costumes left, as curious historical records of the 
benighted Past, 



FROM NEW-YORK. 26 



LETTER VI. 

September 23, 1841, 

I lately visited the Jewish Synagogue in Crosby-street, 
to witness the Festival of the New Year, which was ob- 
served for two days, by religious exercises and a general 
suspension of worldly business. The Jewish year, you 
are aware, begins in September ; and they commemorate 
it in obedience to the following text of Scripture : " In the 
first day of the seventh month ye shall have a Sabbath, a 
memorial of blowing of trumpets, a holy convocation. Ye 
shall do no servile work therein." 

It was the first time I ever entered any place of worship 
where Christ was not professedly believed in. Strange 
vicissitudes of circumstance, over which I had no control, 
have brought me into intimate relation with almost every 
form of Christian faith, and thereby given me the power of 
looking candidly at religious opinions from almost any point 
of view. But beyond the pale of the great sect of Chris- 
tianity I had never gone ; though far back in my early years, 
I remember an intense desire to be enough acquainted with 
some intelligent and sincere Mohammedan, to enable me to 
look at the Koran through his spectacles. 

The women were seated separately, in the upper part of 
the house. One of the masters of Israel came, and some- 
what grufliy ordered me, and the young lady who accom- 
panied me, to retire from the front seats of the synagogue. 
It was uncourteous ; for we were very respectful and still, 
and not in the least disposed to intrude upon the daughters 
of Jacob. However, my sense of justice was rather grati- 
fied at being treated contemptuously as a Gentile and <' a 
Nazarene ;" for I remembered the contumely with which 
2 



26 LETTERS 

they had been treated throughout Christendom, and I ima- 
gined how they must feel, on entering a place of Christian 
worship, to hear us sing, 

" With hearts as hard as stubborn Jews, 
That unbelieving race." 

The effect produced on my mind, by witnessing the cere- 
monies of the Jewish Synogogue, was strange and bewil- 
dering ; spectral and flitting ; with a sort of vanishing re- 
semblance to reality; the magic lantern of the Past. 

Veneration and Ideality, you know, would have made 
me wholly a poet, had not the inconvenient size of Con- 
scientiousness forced me into reforms ; between the two, 
I look upon the Future with active hope, and upon the Past 
with loving reverence. My mind was, therefore, not only 
unfettered by narrow prejudice, but solemnly impressed 
with recollections of those ancient times when the Divine 
Voice was heard amid the thimders of Sinai, and the Holy 
Presence shook the mercy-seat between the cherubim. I 
had, moreover, ever cherished a tenderness for 

" Israel's wandering race, that go 
Unblest through every land ; 
Whose blood hath stained the polar snow 
And quenched the desert sand : 
Judea's homeless hearts, that turn 
From all earth's shrines to thee, 
With their lone faith for ages borne 
In sleepless memory.'* 

Thus prepared, the scene would have strongly excited 
my imagination and my feelings, had there not been a 
heterogeneous jumbling of the Present with the Past. 
There was the Ark containing the Sacred Law, written 
on scrolls of vellum, and rolled, as in the time of Moses ; 
but between the Ark and the congregation,^ instead of the 



FROM NEW-YORK, 27 

•'* brazen la ver," wherein those who entered into the taber- 
nacle were commanded to wash, was a common bowl and 
ewer of English delf, ugly enough for the chamber of a 
country tavern. All the male members of the congrega- 
tion, even the little boys, while they were within the syna- 
gogue, wore fringed silk mantles, bordered with blue stripes ; 
for Moses was commanded to " Speak unto the children of 
Israel, and bid them that they make them fringes in the 
borders of their garments, throughout their generations, 
and that they put upon the fringe of their borders a ribbon 
of blue ;" — but then these mantles were worn over modern 
broadcloth coats, and fashionable pantaloons with straps. 
The Priest indeed approached more nearly to the graceful- 
ness of oriental costume ; for he wore a full black silk robe, 
like those worn by the Episcopal clergy ; but the large 
white silk shawl which shaded his forehead, and fell over 
his shoulders, was drawn over a common black hat ! Ever 
and anon, probably in parts of the ceremony deemed pecu- 
liarly sacred, he drew the shawl entirely over his face, as 
he stooped forward and laid his forehead on the book be- 
fore him. I suppose this was done because Moses, till 
he had done speaking with the congregation, put a veil 
upon his face. But through the whole, priest and people 
kept on their hats. My spirit was vexed with this incon- 
gruity. I had turned away from the turmoil of the Present, 
to gaze quietly for a while on the grandeur of the Past ; 
and the representatives of the Past v/alked before me, not 
in the graceful oriental turban, but the useful European 
hat! It broke the illusion completely. 

The ceremonies altogether impressed me with less so- 
lemnity than those of the Catholic Church ; and gave me 
the idea of far less faith and earnestness in those engaged 
therein. However, some allowance must be made for 
this : first, because the common bond of faith in Christ 
was wanting between us ; and secondly, because all the 



2S LETTERS 

services were performed in Hebrew, of which I under- 
stood not one syllable. To see mouths opened to chant 
forth a series of unintelligible sounds, has the same kind of 
fantastic unreality about it, that there is in witnessing a 
multitude dancing, when you hear no music. But after 
making all these allowances, I could not escape the conclu- 
sion that the ceremonies were shuffled through in a cold, 
mechanical style. The priest often took up his watch, 
which lay before him ; and assuredly this chanting of 
prayers " by Shrewsbury clock" is not faA^ourable to so- 
lemnity. 

The chanting was unmusical, consisting of monotonous 
ups and downs of the voice, which, when the whole con- 
gregation joined in it, sounded like the continuous roar of 
the sea. 

The trumpet, which was blown by a Rabbi, with a shawl 
drawn over his hat and face, was of the ancient shape, 
somewhat resembling a cow's horn. It did not send forth 
a spirit-stirring peal ; but the sound groaned and struggled 
through it — not at all reminding one of the days when 

" There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answered keen, 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays, 
With priest and warrior's voice between." 

I observed, in the English translation on one side of an 
open prayer book, these words : " When the trumpet shall 
blow on the holy mountain, let all the earth hear ! Let 
them which are scattered in Assyria, and perishing in 
Egypt, gather themselves together in the Holy City." I 
looked around upon the congregation, and I felt that Judea 
no longer awoke at the sound of the trumpet ! 

The ark, on a raised platform, was merely a kind of semi- 
circular closet, with revolving doors. It was surmounted 
by a tablet, bearing a Hebrew inscription in gilded letters. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 29 

The doors were closed and opened at different times, with, 
much ceremony ; sometimes, a man stood silently before 
them, with a shawl drawn over his hat and face. When 
opened, they revealed festoons of white silk damask, sus- 
pended over the sacred rolls of the Pentateuch ; each roll 
enveloped in figured satin, and surmounted by ornaments 
with silver bells. According to the words of Moses, 
'• Thou shalt put into the ark the testimony which I shall 
give thee." Two of these rolls were brought out, opened 
by the priest, turned round toward all the congregation, 
and after portions of them had been chanted for nearly two 
hours, were again wrapped in satin, and carried slowly 
back to the ark, in procession, the people chanting the 
Psalms of David, and the little bells tinkling as they moved. 

While they were chanting an earnest prayer for the com- 
ing of the Promised One, who was to restore the scattered 
tribes, I turned over the leaves, and by a singular coinci- 
dence my eye rested on these words : " Abraham said, see 
ye not the splendid light now shining on Mount Moriah ? 
And they answered, nothing hut caverns do we see." I 
thought of Jesus, and the whole pageant became more 
spectral than ever ; so strangely vague and shadowy, that 
I felt as if under the influence of magic. 

The significant sentence reminded me of a German 
friend, who shared his sleeping apartment with another 
gentleman, and both were in the habit of walking very 
early in the morning. One night, his companion rose 
much earlier than he intended ; and perceiving his mis- 
take, placed a lighted lamp in the chimney corner, that its 
glare might not disturb the sleeper, leaned his back against 
the fire-place, and began to read. Sometime after, the 
German rose, left him reading, and walked forth into the 
morning twilight. When he returned, the sun was shin- 
ing high up in the heavens ; but his companion, uncon- 
scious of the change, was still reading by lamp-light in the 



00 LETTERS 

chimney corner. And this the Jews are now doing, as 
well as a very large proportion of Christians. 
, Ten days from the Feast of Trumpets, comes the Feast 
of the Atonement. Five days after, the Feast of Taber- 
nacles is observed for seven days. Booths of evergreen 
are erected in the synagogue, according to the injunction, 
** Ye shall dwell in booths seven days ; all that are Israel- 
ites born shall dwell in booths. And ye shall take the 
boughs of goodly trees, branches of palm trees, and the 
boughs of thick trees, and willows of the brook ; and ye 
shall rejoice before the Lord your God seven days." 

Last week, a new synagogue was consecrated in Attor- 
ney-street ; making, I believe, five Jewish Synagogues in 
this city, comprising in all about ten thousand of this an- 
cient people. The congregation of the new synagogue 
are German emigrants, driven from Bavaria, the Duchy of 
Baden, &c., by oppressive laws. One of these laws for- 
bade Jews to marry ; and among the emigrants were many 
betrothed couples, who married as soon as they landed on 
our shores ; trusting their future support to the God of 
Jacob. If not as "rich as Jews,'' they are now most of 
them doing well in the world ; and one of the first proofs 
they gave of prosperity, was the erection of a place of 
worship. 

The oldest congregation of Jews in New- York, were 
called Shewiih Israel. The Dutch governors would not 
allow them to build a place of worship ; but after the Eng- 
lish conquered the colony, they erected a small wooden 
synagogue, in Mill- street, near which a creek ran up 
from the East River, where the Jewish women performed 
their ablutions, In the course of improvement this was 
sold ; and they erected the handsome stone building in 
Crosby-street, which I visited. It is not particularly strik- 
ing or magnificent, either in its exterior or interior; nor 
would it be in good keeping, for a people gone into capti- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 31 

vity to have garments like those of Aaron, '* for glory and 
for beauty ;" or an " ark overlaid with pure gold, within 
and without, and a crown of gold to it round about." 

There is something deeply impressive in this remnant 
of a scattered people, coming down to us in continuous 
links through the long vista of recorded time ; preserving 
themselves carefully unmixed by intermarriage with people 
of other nations and other faith, and keeping up the cere- 
monial forms of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, through all the 
manifold changes of revolving generations. Moreover, 
our religions are connected, though separated; they are 
shadow and substance, type and fulfilment. To the Jews 
only, with all their blindness and waywardness, was given 
the idea of one God, spiritual and invisible ; and, there- 
fore, among them only could such a one as Josus have ap- 
peared. To us they have been the medium of glorious 
truths ; and if the murky shadow of their Old dispensation 
rests too heavily on the mild beauty of the New, it is be- 
cause the Present can never quite unmoor itself from the 
Past ; and well for the world's safety that it is so. 

Quakers were mixed with the congregation of Jews ; 
thus oddly brought together, were the representatives of 
the extreme of conservatism, and the extreme of innova- 
tion! 

I was disappointed to see so large a proportion of this 
peculiar people fair-skinned and blue-eyed. As no one 
who marries a Gentile is allowed to remain in their syna- 
gogues, one would naturally expect to see a decided pre- 
dominance of the dark eyes, jetty locks, and olive com- 
plexions of Palestine. But the Jews furnish incontroverti- 
ble evidence that colour is the effect of climate. In the 
mountains of Bavaria they are light-haired and fair- skinned : 
in Italy and Spain they are dark : in Hiiidostan swarthy. 
The Black Jews of Hindostan are said to have been origin- 
ally African and Hindoo slaves, who received their freedom 



82 LETTERS 

as soon as tliey became converted to Judaism, and had ful- 
filled the rites prescribed by the ceremonial law ; for the 
Jews, unlike Christians, deem it unlawful to hold any one 
of their own religious faith in slavery. In another respect 
they put us to shame ; for they held a Jubilee of Freedom 
once in fifty years, and on that occasion emancipated all, 
even of their heathen slaves. 

Whether the Black Jews, now a pretty large class in 
Hindostan, intermarry with other Jews we are not inform- 
ed. Moses, their great lawgiver married an Ethiopian. 
Miriam and Aaron were shocked at it, as they would have 
been at any intermarriage with the heathen tribes, of what- 
ever colour. Whether the Ethiopian woman had adopted 
the faith of Israel is not mentioned ; but we are told that 
the anger of the Lord was kindled against Aaron and his 
sister for their conduct on this occasion. 

The anniversary meetings of the New^-York Hebrew 
Benevolent Society present a singular combination. There 
meet together pilgrims from the Holy Land, merchants from 
the Pacific Ocean and the East Indies, exiles from the 
banks of the Vistula, the Danube, and the Dneiper, bankers 
from Vienna and Paris, and dwellers on the shores of the 
Hudson and the Susquehannah. Suspended in their din- 
ing hall, between the American and English flags, may be 
seen the Banner of Judah, with Hebrew inscriptions in 
golden letters. How this stirs the sea of memory ! That 
national banner has not been unfurled for eighteen hundred 
years. The last time it floated to the breeze was over the 
walls of Jerusalem, besieged by Titus Vespasianus. Then, 
owr stars and stripes were not foreseen, even in dim shadow, 
by the vision of a prophet ; and here they are intertwined 
together over this congress of nations ! 

In New- York, as elsewhere, the vending of " old clo' " 
is a prominent occupation among the Jews ; a fact in which 
those who look for spiritual correspondences can perceive 



FROM NEW-YORK. 33 

significance ; though singularly enough Sartor Resartus 
makes no allusion to it, in his *' Philosophy of Clothes." 
When I hear Christian ministers apologizing for slavery by 
the example of Abraham, defending war, because the Lord 
commanded Samuel to hew Agag in pieces, and sustaining 
capital punishment by the retaliatory code of Moses, it 
seems to me it would be most appropriate to have Jewish 
criers at the doors of our theological schools, proclaiming 
at the top of their lungs, " Old Clothes ! Old Clothes ! 
Old Clothes all the way from Judea !" 

The proverbial worldliness of the Jews, their unpoetic 
avocations, their modern costume, and mechanical mode of 
perpetuating ancient forms, cannot divest them of a sacred 
and even romantic interest. The religious idea transmitted 
by this remarkable people, has given them a more abiding 
and extended influence on the world's history, than Greece 
attained by her classic beauty, or Rome by her triumphant 
arms. Mohammedanism and Christianity, the two forms of 
theology which include nearly all the civilized world, both 
grew from the stock planted by Abraham's children. On 
them lingers the long-reflected light of prophecy ; and we, 
as well as they, are watching for its fulfilment. And verily, 
all things seem tending toward it. Through all their wan- 
derings, they have followed the direction of Moses, to be 
lenders and not borrowers. The sovereigns of Europe and 
Asia, and the republics of America, are their debtors, to an 
immense amount. The Rothschilds are Jews ; and they 
have wealth enough to purchase all Palestine if they 
choose ; a large part of Jerusalem is in fact mortgaged to 
them. The oppressions of the Turkish government, and 
the incursions of hostile tribes, have hitherto rendered 
Syria an unsafe residence ; but the Sultan has erected it 
into an independent power, and issued orders throughout 
his empire, that the Jews shall be as perfectly protected in 
their religious and civil rights, as any other class of his 
2* 



34 LETTERS 

subjects ; moreover, the present controversy between Eu- 
ropean nations and the East seems likely to result in placing 
Syria under the protection of Christian nations. It is 
reported that Prince Metternich, Premier of Austria, has 
determined, if possible, to constitute a Christian kingdom 
out of Palestine, of which Jerusalem is to be the seat of 
government. The Russian Jews, who number about 
2,000,000, have been reduced to the most abject condition 
by contempt and tyranny ; but there, too, government is 
now commencing a movement in their favour, without re- 
quiring them to renounce their faith. As long ago as 1817 
important privileges were conferred by law on those Jews 
who consented to embrace Christianity. Land was gratuit- 
ously bestowed upon them, where they settled, under the 
name of The Society of Israelitish Christians. 

These signs of the times cannot, of course, escape the 
observation, or elude the active zeal, of Christians of the 
present day. England has established many missions for 
the conversion of the Jews. The Presbyterian Church of 
Scotland have lately addressed a letter of sympathy and 
expostulation to the scattered children of Israel, which has 
been printed in a great variety of Oriental and Occidental 
languages. In Upper Canada, a Society of Jews convert- 
ed to Christianity, have been organized to facilitate the 
return of the wandering tribes to the Holy Land. 

The Rev. Solomon Michael Alexander, a learned Rabbi, 
of the tribe of Judah, has been proselyted to Christianity, 
and sent to Palestine by the Church of England ; being 
consecrated the first Bishop of Jerusalem. 

Moreover the spirit of schism appears among them. A 
numerous and influential body in England have seceded, 
under the name of Reformed Jews. They denounce the 
Talmud as a mass of absurdities, and adhere exclusively 
to the authority of Moses ; whereas, orthodox Jews con- 
sider the rabbinical writings of equal authority with the 



FROM NEW -YORK. 85 

Pentateuch. They have sent a Hebrew circular to the 
Jews of this country, warning them against the seceders. 
A General Convention is likewise proposed, to enable them 
to draw closer the bonds of union. 

What a busy, restless age is this in which we are cast ! 
What a difficult task for Israel to walk through its midst, 
with mantles untouched by the Gentiles. 

'• And hath she wandered thus in vain, 

A pilgrim of the pasti 
No ! long deferred her hope hath been, 

But it shall come at last ; 
For in her wastes a voice I hear. 

As from some prophet's urn, 
It bids the nations build not there; 

For Jacob shall return." 



LETTER V 1 1 i 

Sept. 30, 1841. 

A few days since, I crossed the East River to Brooklyn, 
on Long Island; named by the Dutch, Breuck-len, or the 
Broken-land. Brooklyn Heights, famous in Revolutionary 
history, command a magnificent view of the city of New- 
York, the neighbouring islands, and harbour ; and being at 
least a hundred feet above the river, and open to the sea, 
they are never unvisited by a refreshing and invigorating 
breeze. A few years ago, these salubrious heights might 
have been purchased by the city at a very low price, and 
converted into a promenade, of beauty unrivalled throughout 
the world ; but speculators have now laid hands upon them, 
and they are digging them away to make room for stores, 
with convenient landings from the river. In this process, 
they not unfrequently turn out the bones of soldiers, buried 
there during the battles and skirmishes of the Revolution. 

We turned aside to look in upon the small, neat burying 



36 LETTERS 

ground of the Methodist church, where lie the bones of 
that remarkable young man, the Rev. John Summerfield. 
In the course of so short a life, few have been able to 
impress themselves so deeply and vividly on the memory 
of a thousand hearts, as this eloquent disciple of Christ. 
None who heard the fervid outpourings of his gifted soul 
could ever forget him. His grave is marked by a horizontal 
marble slab, on which is inscribed a long, well written 
epitaph. The commencement of it is the most striking : 

" Rev. John Summerfield. Born in England ; born 
again in Ireland. By the first, a child of genius ; by the 
second a child of God. Called to preach at 19 ; died 
at 27." 

Dwellings were around this little burying-ground, sepa- 
rated by no fences, their thresholds divided from the graves 
only by a narrow foot path. I was anxious to know what 
might be the effect on the spiritual character of children, 
accustomed to look out continually upon these marble slabs 
to play among the grassy mounds, and perchance to " take 
their little porringer, and eat their supper there." 

About two miles from the ferry, we came to the marshy 
village of Gowannus, and crossed the mill-pond where 
nearly a whole regiment of young Marylanders were cut 
off, retreating before the British, at the unfortunate battle of 
Long Island. A farm near by furnishes a painful illustra- 
tion of the unwholesome excitement attendant upon specu- 
lation. Here dwelt an honest, ignorant, peaceful old man, 
who inherited from his father a farm of little value. Its 
produce was, however, enough to supply his moderate 
wants ; and he took great pleasure in a small, neatly kept 
flower garden, from which he was ever ready to gather a 
bouquet for travellers. Thus quietly lived the old-fashioned 
farmer and his family, and thus they might have gone home 
to their fathers, had not a band of speculators foreseen that 
the rapidly increasing city would soon take in Brooklyn, 



FROM NEW-YORK. 37 

and stretch itself across the marshes of Gowannus. Full 
of these visions, they called upon the old man, and offered 
him $70,000 for a farm which had, originally, been bought 
almost for a song. $10,000, in silver and gold, were 
placed on the table before him ; he looked at them, finger- 
ed them over, seemed bewildered, and agreed to give a 
decisive answer on the morrow. The next morning found 
him a raving maniac ! And thus he now roams about, 
recklessly tearing up the flowers he once loved so dearly, 
and keeping his family in continual terror. 

On the high ground, back of this marsh, is Greenwood 
Cemetery, the object of our pilgrimage. The site is 
chosen with admirable taste. The grounds, beautifully 
diversified v/ith hill and valley, are nearly covered with a 
noble old forest, from which it takes its cheerful name of 
the Green Wood. 

The area of two hundred acres comprises a greater 
variety of undulating surface than Mount Auburn, and I 
think excels it in natural beauty. From embowered glades 
and deeply shaded dells, you rise in some places twenty 
feet, and in others more than two hundred, above the sea. 
Mount Washington, the highest and most remarkable of 
these elevations, is two hundred and sixteen feet high. 
The scenery here is of picturesque and resplendent beauty ; 
— comprising an admirable view of New York ; the shores 
of North and East river, sprinkled with villages : Staten 
Island, that lovely gem of the waters ; the entire harbor, 
white with the sails of a hundred ships ; and the margin 
of the Atlantic, stretching from Sandy Hook beyond the 
Rockaway Pavilion. A magnificent monument to Wash- 
ington is to be erected here. 

Thence we rambled along, through innumerable sinuosi- 
ties, until we came to a quiet little lake, which bears the 
pretty name of Sylvan Water. Fish abound here, undis- 



Ab letters 

tiirbed ; and shrubs in their wild, natural state, bend over 
the margin to dip their feet and wash their faces. 

" Here come the little gentle birds, 

Without a fear of ill, 

Down to the murmuring water's edge, 

And freely drink their fill." 

As a gun is never allowed to enter the premises, the 
playful squirrels, at will, " drop down from the leafy tree," 
and the air of spring is redolent with woodland melody. 

An hour's wandering brought us round to the same place 
again ; for here, as at Mount Auburn, it is exceedingly easy 
for the traveller to lose his way in labyrinthine mazes. 

"The wandering paths that wind and creep, 

Now o'er the mountain's rugged brow, 
And now where sylvan waters sleep 

In quiet beauty, far below , 
Those paths which many a lengthened mile 

Diverge, then meet, then part once more, 
Like those which erst in Greta's isle, 

Were trod by fabled Minotaur." 

Except the beautiful adaptation of the roads and paths 
to the undulating nature of the ground, Art has yet done 
but little for Greenwood. It is said the Company that 
purchased it for a cemetery, will have the good taste to 
leave the grounds as nearly as possible in a state of nature. 
But as funds are increased by the sale of burying lots, the 
entire precincts will be enclosed within terrace-v/alls, a 
handsome gate-way and chapel will be erected, and a 
variety of public monuments. The few private monuments 
now there, are mostly of Egyptian model, with nothing 
remarkable in their appearance. 

On this spot was fought the bloody battle of Long Island. 

"Each wood, each hill, each glen, 
Lives in the record of those days 

Which 'tried the souls of men.' 
This fairy scene, so quiet now, 



FROM NEW. YORK. 39 

Where murmuring winds breathe soft and low, 

And bright birds carol sweet, 
Once heard the ringing clash of steel, 
The shout, the shriek, the volley 'd peal, 

The rush of flying feet !" 

When the plan was first suggested, of finding some quiet, 
sequestered place, for a portion of the innumerable dead of 
this great city, many were very urgent to have it called 
The Necropolis, meaning The City of the Dead ; but 
Cemetery was more wisely chosen ; for the old Greeks 
signified thereby The Place of Sleep. We still need a 
word of Christian significance, implying, " They are not 
here ; they have risen." I should love to see this cheer- 
ful motto over the gate-way. 

The increase of beautiful burial-grounds, like Mount 
Auburn and Greenwood, is a good si^n. Blessed be all 
agencies that bring our thoughts into pleasant companion- 
ship with those who have " ended their pilgrimage and 
begun their life.'' Banished for ever be the sable varments, 
the funeral pall, the dismal, unshaded ground. If we must 
attend to a change of garments, while our hearts are full 
of sorrow, let us wear sky-blue, like the Turks, to remind 
us of heaven. The horror and the gloom, with which we 
surround death, indicates too surely our want of living faith 
in the soul's immortality. Deeply and seriously impressed 
we must needs be, whenever called to contemplate the mys- 
terious close of " our hood-winked march from we know 
not whence, to we know not whither ;" but terror and 
gloom ill become the disciples of Him, who asked with 
such cheerful significance, " Why seek ye the Living 
among the Dead ?" 

I rejoice greatly to observe that these ideas are gaining 
ground in the community. Individuals of all sects, and in 
many cases entire churches, arc abjuring the custom of 
wearing mourning ; and Protestant Christendom is fast con- 



40 LETTERS 

verting its dismal, barricaded burial grounds into open, 
flowery walks. The Catholics have always done so. I 
know not whether the intercession of Saints, and long con- 
tinued masses for the dead bring their imaginations into 
more frequent and nearer communion, with the departed ; but 
for some reason or other, they keep more bright than we do 
the link between those who are living here, and those who 
live beyond. Hence, their tombs are constantly supplied 
with garlands by the hand of affection ; and the innocent 
babe lying uncoffined on its bier in the open church, with 
fragrant flowers in its little hand, and the mellow light 
from painted windows resting on its sweet uncovered face. 
Great is the power of Faith ! 



LETTER VIII. 

October 7, 1841. 

Among the many objects of interest in this great city, a 
stranger cannot overlook its shipping ; especially as New- 
York lays claim to superiority over other cities of the 
Union, in the construction of vessels, which are remarked 
for beauty of model, elegance of finish, and gracefulness of 
sparring. 

I have often anathematized the spirit of Trade, which 
reigns triumphant, not only on 'Change, but in our halls of 
legislation, and even in our churches. Thought is sold un- 
der the hammer, and sentiment, in its holiest forms, stands 
labelled for the market. Love is offered to the highest 
bidder, and sixpences are given to purchase religion for 
starving souls. 

In view of these things, I sometimes ask whether the age 
of Commerce is better than the age of War? Whether our 



PROM NEW-YORK. 41 

" merchant princes'' are a great advance upon feudal chief- 
tains ? Whether it is better for the many to be prostrated 
by force, or devoured by cunning? To the imagination, 
those bloody old barons seem the nobler of the tviro ; for it 
is more manly to hunt a lion, than to entrap a fox. But 
Reason acknowledges that merchandize, with all its cun- 
ning and its fraud, is a step forward in the slow march of 
human improvement; and Hope announces, in prophetic 
tones, that Commerce will yet fulfil its highest mission, and 
encircle the v/orld in a golden band of brotherhood. 

You will not think this millenium is nigh, when I tell 
you that the most graceful, fairy-like vessel in these waters 
was a slaver ! She floated like a sea-nymph, and cut the 
waves like an arrow. I mean the Baltimore clipper, called 
the Catharine ; taken by British cruisers, and brought here, 
with all her detestable appurtenances of chains and pad- 
locks, to be adjudged by the United States' Court, con- 
demned, and sold. For what purpose she is now used, I 
know not ; but no doubt this city is secretly much involved 
in the slave-trade. 

At the Navy Yard, Brooklyn, I saw the ship of war In- 
dependence, which carried out Mr. Dallas and his family, 
when he went ambassador to Russia. On their arrival 
at Cronstadt, they observed a barge, containing sixteen of 
the emperor's state officers, put off from a steamboat near by, 
and row towards them. They came on board, leaving be- 
hind them the bargemen, and a tall, fine-looking man at the 
helm. While the officers were in the cabin partaking re- 
freshments and exchanging courtesies, the helmsman leap- 
ed on board, and made himself " hail fellow, well met" 
with the sailors, accepting cuds of tobacco, and asking va- 
rious questions. When the officers returned on deck, and he 
had resumed his place, one of the sailors said to his com- 
rade, with a knowing look, " I tell you what, Tom, that 'ere 
chap's more than we take him for. He's a land-lubher, I 



42 LETTERS 

can tell you. Old Neptune never had the dipping of 
him.'' 

An officer of the Independence overheard these remarks, 
and whispered to Commodore Nicholson that he shrewdly 
suspected the tall, plainly-dressed helmsman, was the Em- 
peror Nicholas, in disguise ; for he was said to be fond of 
playing such pranks. A royal salute, forty-two guns, was 
immediately ordered. The helmsman was observed to 
count the guns ; and after twenty- one (the common salute) 
had been fired, he took off his cap and bowed. The Rus- 
sian steamer instantly ran up the imperial flag ; all the forts, 
and every ship in the harbor, commenced a tremendous 
cannonading ; rending the air, as when from " crag to crag 
leaps the live thunder." 

In courteous acknowledgment of his discovered disguise, 
the officers of the Independence were invited to make the 
palace their home, during their stay at St. Petersburg, and 
the Emperor's carriages, horses, and aids, were at their ser- 
vice ; a compliment never before paid to a vessel of any 
nation. 

Yet was similar honour conferred on an uncouth country 
boy from New England ! The following is the substance 
of the story, as told by Mr. Dallas, at a public dinner given 
him in Philadelphia, on his return from Russia, in 1838. 

One day a lad, apparently about nineteen, presented him- 
self before our ambassador at St. Petersburg. He was a 
pure specimen of the genus Yankee; with sleeves too short 
for his bony arms, trowsers half way up to his knees, and 
hands playing with coppers and ten-penny nails in his pock- 
et. He introduced himself by saying " I've just come out 
here to trade, with a few Yankee notions, and I want to get 
sight of the Emperor." 

" Why do you wish to see Mm ?" 

" I've brought him a present, all the way from Ameriky. 
I respect him considerable, and I want to get at him, to give 
it to him with my own hands." 



FROM NEW-YORK. 43 

Mr. Dallas smiled, as he answered, *< It is such a com- 
mon thing, my lad, to make crowned heads a present, ex- 
pecting something handsome in return, that I'm afraid the 
Emperor will consider this only a Yankee trick. What 
have you brought ?" 

" An acorn.'' 

"An acorn ! what under the sun induced you to bring the 
Emperor of Russia an acorn ?'' 

" Why, jest before I sailed, mother and I went on to 
W^ashington to see about a pension ; and when we was 
there, we thought we'd jest step over to Mount Vernon. I 
picked up this acorn there ; and I thought to myself I'd 
bring it to the Emperor. Thinks, says I, he must have 
heard a considerable deal about our General Washington, 
and I expect he must admire our institutions. So now you 
see I've brought it, and I want to get at him." 

" My lad, it's not an easy matter for a stranger to approach 
the Emperor ; and I am afraid he will take no notice of 
your present. You had better keep it." 

"I tell you I want to have a talk with him. I expect I 
can tell him a thing or two about Ameriky. I guess he'd 
like mighty well to hear about our rail-roads, and our free 
schools, and what a big swell our steamers cut. And when 
he hears how well our people are getting on, may be it will 
put him up to doing something. The long and the short 
on't is, I shan't be easy till I get a talk with the Emperor ; 
and I should like to see his wife and children. I want to see 
how such folks bring up a family." 

"Well, sir, since you are so determined upon it, I will 
do what I can for you ? but you must expect to be disap- 
pointed. Though it will be rather an unusual proceeding, I 
would advise you to call on the vice-chancellor, and state 
your wishes ; he may possibly assist you." 

" Well, that's all I want of you. 1 will call again, and 
let you know how I get on." 



44 LETTERS 

In two or three days, he again appeared, and said, '• Well, 
I've seen the Emperor, and had a talk with him. He's a 
real gentleman, I can tell you. When I give him the acorn, 
he said he should set a great store by it ; that there was no 
character in ancient or modern history he admired so much 
as he did our Washington. He said he'd plant it in his 
palace garden with his own hand ; and he did do it — for I 
see him with my own eyes. He wanted to ask me so much 
about our schools and rail-roads, and one thing or another, 
that he invited me to come again, and see his daughters : 
for he said his wife could speak better English than he 
could. So I went again, yesterday ; and she's a fine, 
knowing woman, I tell you; and his daughters are nice 
gals." 

** What did the Empress say to you ?" 

" Oh, she asked me a sight o' questions. Don't you think, 
she thought we had no servants in Ameriky ! I told her 
poor folks did their own work, but rich folks had plenty of 
servants. ' But then you don't call 'em servants,' said she ; 
' you call 'em help.' I guess ma'am you've been reading 
Mrs. Trollope ? says I. We had that ere book aboard our 
ship. The Emperor clapped his hands, and laughed as if 
he'd kill himself. 'You're right, sir,' said he, 'you're 
right. We sent for an English copy, and she's been read- 
ing it this very morning !' Then I told him all I knew 
about our country, and he was mightily pleased. He want- 
ed to know how long I expected to stay in these parts. I 
told him I'd sold all the notions I brought over, and I 
guessed I should go back in the same ship. I bid 'em good 
bye, all round, and went about my business. Ain't I had 
a glorious time ? I expect you didn't calculate to see me 
run such a rig?" 

" No, indeed, I did not, my lad. You may well consider 
yourself lucky ; for it's a very uncommon thing for crowned 
heads to treat a stranger with so much distinction." 



FROM NEW-TORK. 4^ 

A few days after, he called again, and said, " I guess 
I shall stay here a spell longer, I'm treated so well. 
T'other day a grand officer come to my room, and told me 
the Emperor had sent him to show me all the curiosities ; 
and I dressed myself, and he took me with him, in a mighty 
fine carriage, with four horses ; and I've been to the theatre 
and the museum; and I expect I've seen about all there is 
to be seen in St. Petersburg. What do you think of that, 
Mr. Dallas ?" 

It seemed so incredible that a poor, vmgainly Yankee lad 
should be thus loaded with attentions, that the ambassador 
scarcely knew what to think ok say. 

In a short time, his strange visiter re-appeared. " Well," 
said he, " I made up my mind to go home ; so I went to thank 
the Emperor, and bid him good-bye. I thought I couldn't 
do no less, he'd been so civil. Says he, ' Is there anything 
else you'd like to see, before you go back to Ameriky ?' I 
told him I should like to get a peep at Moscow ; for I'd 
heard considerable about their setting fire to the Kremlin, 
and I'd read a deal about General Bonaparte ; but it would 
cost a sight o' money to go there, and I wanted to carry my 
earnings to mother. So I bid him good-bye, and come off. 
, Now what do you guess he did, next morning ? I vow, he 
sent the same man, in regimentals, to carry me to Mos- 
^ cow in one of his own carriages, and bring me back again, 
when I've seen all I want to see ! And. we're going to-mor- 
row morning, Mr Dallas. What do you think now ?" 

And sure enough, the next morning the Yankee boy 
passed the ambassador's house in a splendid coach and four, 
'waving his handkerchief, and shouting *' Good-bye ! Good- 
bye !' 

Mr. Dallas afterward learned from the Emperor that all 
:he particulars related by this adventurous youth were 
strictly true. He again heard from him at Moscow, waited 



46 LETTERS 

upon by the public officers, and treated with as much atten- 
tion as is usually bestowed on ambassadors. 

The last tidings of him reported that he was travelling in 
Circassia, and writing a Journal, which he intended to pub- 
lish. 

Now, who but a Yankee could have done all that ? 

While speaking of the Emperor, I must not forget the 
magnificent steam frigate Kamschatka, built here to his or- 
der. Her model, drafted by Captain Von Shantz, of the 
Russian navy, is extremely beautiful. She sits on the wa- 
ter as gracefully as a swan ; and it is said her speed is not 
equalled by any sea-steamer on the Atlantic or Pacific, the 
Black sea, the Indian, or the Baltic. It is supposed she 
could easily make the passage from here to England in ten 
days. The elegance of her rigging, and her neat, nimble 
wheels have been particularly admired. These wheels are 
constructed on a new plan ; and though apparently slight, 
have great strength and power. Her engines are of six 
hundred horse pov/er, and her tonnage about two thousand. 

All the metal about her is American, In machinery and 
construction she carries two hundred thousand pounds of 
copper, fifty thousand of wrought iron, and three hundred 
thousand of cast iron. Two hundred and fifty men were eight 
months employed in building her. Her cabins are said to be 
magnificent. Two drawing-rooms are fitted up in princely 
style for the imperial family ; the wood-work of these con- 
sists of mahogany, bird's-eye maple, rose-wood, and satin- 
wood. Her hull is entirely black; the bows and stern sur- 
mounted with a large double-headed gilt eagle, and a crown. 
The machinery, made by Messrs. Dunham & Co. of this 
city, is said to be of the most superb workmanship ever 
produced in this country. She is considered a remarkably 
cheap vessel of the kind, lis she cost only four hundred 
thousand dollars. She was built under the superintendence 
of Mr. Scott, who goes in her to Russia, as chief engineer. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 47 

She sailed for Cronstadt last week, being escorted out of 
the harbour by a large party of ladies and gentlemen. 
Among these was Mr. Rhoades, of New-York, the Naval 
Constructor. You probably recollect that he built a large 
gun-ship for the Turkish Sultan ; who was so much de- 
lighted when he saw the noble vessel launched right royally 
upon the waves, that he jumped and capered, and threw his 
arms about the ship builder's neck, and gave him a golden 
box, set with splendid jewels. Henry Eckford, too, one of 
the most remarkable of marine architects, was of New- 
York. He built the Kensington for the Greeks, and died 
prematurely while in the employ of Mahmoud. It is singu- 
lar, is it not, that foreign powers send to this young country, 
when they most want ingenious machinery, or skilful work- 
manship ? But I will quit this strain, lest I fall into our 
national sin of boasting. 

I cannot bid you farewell without mentioning the French 
frigate Belle Poule, commanded by the Prince de Joinville, 
son of Louis Philippe. She is an interesting object seen 
from the Battery, with her tri-colour flying; for one seems 
to see the rich sarcophagus, with its magnificent pall of 
black velvet, sprinkled with silver stars, in which she con- 
veyed the remains of Napoleon from St. Helena to Paris, 
Every day, masses were said, and requiems sung on board, 
for the soul of the great departed. Do not quarrel with the 
phrase. In its highest significance it is ill applied to any 
warrior ; but, nevertheless, in the strong will, successfully 
enforced, there is ever an element of greatness. 

The same unrivalled band that attended the imperial re- 
mains, are now on board, and sometimes refresh our citi- 
zens with most enchanting music. They are twenty-six 
in number, paid from the Prince's own purse. 

Sabbath before last, a youth of fourteen, much beloved, 
died on board, far from home and kindred. It was an im- 
pressive sight to see the coffin of the young stranger pass- 



48 LETTERS 

ing through our streets, covered with the tri-coloured flag, 
suspended upon ropes, after the manner of marine burials 
in Europe, and borne by his mourning comrades. 

The Prince's pri\^ate state-room contains a bronze copy 
of the Joan of Arc, which was exquisitely sculptured by 
his sister, Marie, who had great genius for the fine arts, 
and was richly endowed with intellect. In the same room 
are miniatures of his royal parents, by the celebrated Mad- 
ame de Mirbel, and some very spirited sketches by his own 
hand. It is worthy of remark, that the only royal family 
eminently distinguished for private virtues, combined with 
a high degree of intellectual cultivation, were not educated 
to be princes ; and that their father had acquired wisdom 
and strength in the school of severe adversity. 

The keeper of Castle Garden, when he saw me watch- 
ing the barge that came from the Belle Poule, repeated, at 
least half a dozen times, that I should not know the Prince 
from any other man, if I were to see him. I was amused 
to hear him thus betray the state of his own mind, though 
he failed to enlighten mine. 

I love to linger about the Battery at sunset: to see the 
flags all drop down suddenly from the mast-head, in honour 
of the retreatino- king of dav ; and to hear in the stillness 
of evening, some far-ofl^song upon the waters, or the deep, 
solemn sound, " All's well !" echoed from one to another 
of those numerous ships, all lying there so hushed and mo- 
tionless. A thousand thoughts crowd upon my mind, as I 
silently gaze on their twinkling lights, and shadowy rig- 
ging, dimly relieved against the sky. I think of the human 
hearts imprisoned there ; of the poor sailor's toil and suf- 
fering ; of his repressed afl'ections, and benighted mind ; 
and in that one idea of life spent without a home, I find 
condensed all that my nature most shudders at. I think, 
too, of the poor fugitive slave, hunted out by mercenary 
agents, chained on ship-board, and perchance looking up, 



FROM NEW. YORK. 49 

desolate and heart-broken, to the same stars on which I fix 
my free and^happy gaze. Alas, how fearfully solemn must 
their light be to him, in his hopeless sorrow, and supersti- 
tious ignorance. 



LETTER IX. 

October 14, 1841. 

Last week we went to Ravenswood, to visit Grant Thor- 
burn's famous garden. We left the city by Hell-gate, a 
name not altogether inappropriate for an entrance to New- 
York. The waters, though somewhat troubled and peevish, 
were more composed than I had expected. This was ow- 
ing to the high tide ; and it reminded me of Washington 
Irving's description : " Hell gate is as pacific at low water 
as any other stream ; as the tide rises, it begins to fret ; at 
half tide it rages and roars, as if bellowing for more water ; 
but when the tide is full, it relapses again into quiet, and 
for a time seems to sleep almost as soundly as an alder- 
man after dinner. It may be compared to an inveterate 
drinker, who is a peaceful fellow enough when he has no 
liquor at all, or when he is skin-full; but when half seas 
over, plays the very devil." One of the steam-ferry boats 
that crosses this turbulent passage, is appropriately called 
the Pluto. It is odd that men should have confounded 
together the deities that preside over Riches and over 
Hell, and that the god of Commerce should likewise 
be the god of Lies. Perhaps the ancients had sarcastic 
significance in this. 

The garden at Ravenswood is well worth seeing. An 
admirable green-house, full of choice plants ; extensive and 
varied walks, neatly kept ; and nearly three thousand dah- 
S 



50 LETTERS 

lias in full bloom — the choicest specimens, with every va- 
riety of shade and hue ; and a catalogue of great names, 
from Lord Wellington to Kate Nickleby and Grace Darling. 
I never saw any floral exhibition more superb. They stood 
facing each other in regal groups, as if the court beauties 
of a coronation ball had been suddenly changed into blos- 
soms by an enchanter's wand. The location of the garden 
is beautiful ; in some places opening upon pretty rural 
scenes of wood and pasture, and fronting on the broad blue 
river, where, ever and anon, may be seen, through the in- 
tervening foliage, some little boat, or sloop, with snowy 
sail, gliding gracefully along in silence and sunlight. 

Grant Thorburn, you know, of course ; that little " spunk 
o' geni, in a rickety tabernacle," on whose history Gait 
built his Lawrie Todd. The story derived small aid from 
fiction ; the first volume being almost literally Grant Thor- 
burn' s history, as he tells it himself To be sure, he never 
pushed into the wilderness, to lay out " Judiville," or any 
other new town. Though Ravens wood has grown up 
around him, and the tasteful name is of his own choosing, 
he never could have endured many of the hardships of a 
pioneer ; for the village lies on the East River, a little south 
of Hallet's Cove, not more than five miles from the city. 
The name came from the Bride of Lammermoor ; for 
though a strict adherent of Scotland's kirk, he is a great 
admirer of Sir Walter's romances. The pleasant old gen- 
tleman returned in the boat with us, and was highly com- 
municative ; for, in the first place, he loves to talk of him- 
self and his adventures, with the innocent and inoffensive 
egotism of a little child ; and in the next place, he favours 
Boston ladies, having a pleased recollection of the great at- 
tention paid him there. He told us he was born near St. 
Leonard's Crags, and in his boyhood was accustomed to 
pass Jeannie Dean's cottage frequently. His grandfather 
was alive and stirring at the time of the Porteous mob, 



FROM NEW-YORK. 51 

and he had heard him recount the leading incidents in the 
heart of Mid Lothian a thousand times. I was charmed 
to hear him recite, in the pure Scotch accent, Jeannie's el- 
oquent and pathetic appeal to the Queen. Speaking of 
Scott's fidelity to the national character, I asked him if he 
had not often met with a Dandie Dinmont ; he replied, 
«' Yes, and with Dumbiedikes, too ; but much oftener with 
a * douce Davie Deans.' " 

Lawrie Todd is very true to the life ; yet it is slightly 
embellished with fictitious garniture, like a veritable por- 
trait in masquerade dress. The old gentleman's love of 
matter of fact led him to pubhsh a biographical sketch of 
himself; which, so far as it goes, is almost in the identical 
language used by Gait : both being in fact the very words 
in which he has been long accustomed to repeat his story. 
Another motive for giving an unadorned account of himself 
in his little book, probably was the very natural and not un- 
pleasing propensity of an old man, to trace step by step 
the adventures and efforts whereby he fashioned such a 
flowery fortune from the barren sands. 

The handsome country-seats of himself and son, stand- 
ing side by side in the midst of this spacious and beautiful 
garden; urns supported by Cupids, (which they say in 
Yankee land should be called cupidities;) and oriental 
glimpses here and there, of some verdant mound among 
the winding walks, surmounted by the tufted Sago Palm, or 
spreading Cactus ; all this contrasted oddly enough with 
his own account of himself, as a diminutive Scotch lad 
with "brief legs and shuffling feet," squatted down on the 
deck of the emigrant ship, which brought him here, poor 
and friendless, in 1794. He thus describes himself, help- 
ing the colored cook to prepare dinner, when they first drew 
near the wharves of New-York : " I sat down with Cato, 
as he was called, square on the deck, his feet against my 
feet, with a wooden bowl of potatoes between our legs, and 



52 LETTERS 

began to scrape off the skins. While thus employed, a 
boat came alongside with several visiters. One inquired 
for a farmer's servant, wishing to engage one ; another for 
a housemaid ; and the third, thanks be and praise ! asked 
if there was a nail-maker on board. My greedy ear snap- 
ped the word, and looking up, I answered, * I am one.' 

* You !' replied he, looking down as if I was a fairy ; 

* You! can you make nails V * I'll wager a sixpence," (all 
I had) was my answer, ' that I'll make more nails in one 
day than any man in America.' This reply, the manner of 
it, and the figure of the bragger, set all present into a roar 
of laughter." 

A curious sample of Scotch thrift was shown when he 
first opened a little shop, without capital to buy stock. 
Brick-bats, covered with iron monger's paper, with a knife 
or fork tied on the outside, were ranged on the shelves 
like an imposing array of new cutlery ; and a dozen snuff 
boxes, or shaving boxes, made a great show, fastened on 
round junks of wood. 

*' But although it must be allowed that this was a clever 
and innocent artifice," says Lawrie Todd, " yet, like other 
dealers in the devices of cunning, I had not been circum- 
spect at all points ; for by mistake, I happened to tie a 
round shaving box on a brick subterfuge, which a sly, pawky 
old Scotchman, who sometimes stepped in for a crack, ob- 
served. 

*' Ay, mon," says he, '• but ye hae unco" queer things 
here. Wha ever saw a four corner't shaving box ?" — 
Whereupon we had a hearty good laugh. *' Od," he re- 
sumed, " but ye're an auld farrant chappy, and no doot but 
ye'll do weel in this country, where pawkrie is no' an ill 
nest-egg to begin with." 

There is, however, no "pawkrie" about his flowers and 
garden-seeds ; they are genuine, and the best of their 
kind ; as their celebrity throughout the country abundantly 
testifies. 



FROM NEW. YORK. Id 

I begged of the gardener a single sprig of acacia, whose 
light, feathery, yellow foliage looked like a pet plaything 
of the breezes ; and which for the first time enabled me 
to understand clearly Moore's poetic description of the 
Desert, where " The Acacia waves her yellow hair." 

I likewise took with me a geranium leaf, as a memento 
of the rose-geranium which Grant Thorburn accidentally 
bought in the day of small beginnings, and which proved 
the nucleus of his present floral fame, and blooming for- 
tune. The gardener likewise presented us with a bouquet 
of dahlias, magnificent enough for the hand-screen of a 
Sultana ; but this politeness I think we owed to certain 
beautiful young ladies who accompanied us. 

Altogether, it was a charming excursion ; and I came 
away pleased with the garden and its environs, and pleased 
with the old gentleman, whose dwarf-like figure disap- 
pointed me agreeably ; for, from his own description, I 
was prepared to find him ungainly and mis-shapen. I no 
longer deem it so very marvellous that his Rebecca should 
have preferred the poor, canny little Scotchman to her rich 
New-York lover. 

As I never deserved to be called " Mrs. Leo Hunter," 
you will, perhaps, be surprised at the degree of interest I 
express in this man, whose claims to distinction are merely 
the having amassed wealth by his own industry and shrewd- 
ness, and having his adventures told by Gait's facetious pen. 
The accumulation of dollars and cents, I grant is a form of 
power the least attractive of any to the imagination ; but 
yet, as an indication of ability of some sort, it is attractive 
to a degree ; and moreover there is something in mere 
success, which interests us — because it is a stimulus which 
the human mind spontaneously seeks, and without which 
it cannot long retain its energies. Added to this, there is 
a roseate gleam of romance, resting on the shrewd Scotch- 
man's life. First, there is a sober sentiment, a quaint, 



54 LETTERS 

homely pathos, in his account of his first love, which wraps 
the memory of his patient, quiet Rebecca in a sacred veil 
of tender reverence. Secondly, he is a sort of High 
Priest of Flora ; and though not precisely such an one as 
would have been chosen to tend the shrine of her Roman 
Temple, yet this will give him a poetic claim upon my 
interest, so long as the absorbing love of beauty renders 
a Flower-Merchant more attractive to my fancy than a 
dealer in grain. 

Were I not afraid of wearying your patience with de- 
scriptions of scenery, I would talk of the steamboat passage 
from Ravens wood ; for indeed it is very beautiful. But I 
forbear all allusion to the gliding boats, the vernal forests, 
falling in love with their own shadows in the river, and the 
cozy cottages, peeping out from the foliage with their 
pleasant, friendly faces. 1 have placed the lovely land- 
scape in the halls of memory, where I can look upon it 
whenever my soul needs the bounteous refreshings of na- 
ture. I congratulate myself for having added this picture 
to my gallery, as a blessing for the weary months that are 
coming upon us ; for Summer has waved her last farewell, 
as she passed away over the summit of the sunlit hills, and 
I can already spy the waving white locks of old Winter, as 
he comes hobbling up, before the gale, on the other side. 
I could forgive him the ague-fit he bestows on poor Sum- 
mer, as she hurries by ; but the plague of it is, he will 
stand gossiping with Spring's green fairy, till every tooth 
chatters in her sweet little head. 

Now, of a truth, my friend, I have been meaning to write 
sober sense ; but what is written, is written. As the boy 
said of his whistling, "it did itself." I would gladly have 
shown more practical good sense, and talked wisely on 
*' the spirit of the age," "progress of the species," and the 
like ; but I believe, in my soul, fairies keep carnival all the 
year round in my poor brain ; for even when I first wake, 



FRO 7,1 NEW- YORK. 65 

I find a magic ring of tinted mushrooms, to show where 
their midnight dance has been. But I did not bore you 
with scenery, and you should give me credit for that ; we 
who live cooped up in cities, are so apt to forget that any 
body but ourselves ever sees blue sky enough for a suit of 
bed curtains, or butter-cups and greensward sufficient for a 
flowered coverlet. " Don't crow till you're out of the wood," 
though ; for the aforesaid picture hangs in the hall, and I 
may yet draw aside the curtain and give you a peep, if you 
are very curious. Real pictures, like everything else real, 
cannot be bought with cash. Old Mammon buys nothing 
but shadows. My gallery beats that of the Duke of Devon- 
shire ; for it is filled with originals by the oldest masters, 
and not a copy among them all ; and, better still, the sheriff 
cannot seize them, let him do his worst ; others may prove 
property in the same, but they lie safely beyond the reach 
of trover or replevin. 

As we passed Blackweli's Island, Hooked with thought- 
ful sadness on the handsome stone edifice erected there 
for a Lunatic Asylum. On another part of the island is a 
Penitentiary ; likewise a noble building, though chilling 
the heart with its barred doors and grated windows. The 
morally and the intellectually insane — should they not both 
be treated with great tenderness ? It is a question for se- 
rious thought ; and phrenology, with all its absurd quackery 
on its back, will yet aid mankind in giving the fitting an- 
swer. There has at least been kindness evinced in the 
location chosen ; for if free breezes, beautiful expanse of 
water, quiet, rural scenery, and " the blue sky that bends 
o'er all," can *' minister to the mind diseased," then surely 
these forlorn outcasts of society may here find God's best 
physicians for their shattered nerves. 

Another object which interested me exceedingly was the 
Long-Island Farm School, for foundlings and orphans. 
Six or eight hundred children are here carefully tended by 



56 LETTERS 

a matron and her assistants, until they are old enough to go 
out to service or trades. Their extensive play-ground runs 
along the shore ; a place of as sweet natural influences as 
could well be desired. I thought of the squalid little 
"wretches I had seen at Five Points, whose greatest mis- 
fortune was that they were not orphans. I thought of 
the crowd of sickly infants in Boston alms-house — the in- 
nocent victims of hereditary vice. And my heart ached, 
that it could see no end to all this misery, though it heard 
it, in the far-off voice of prophecy. 



LETTER X. 

October 21, 1841, 

In a great metropolis like this, nothing is more observ- 
able than the infinite varieties of character. Almost 
without eflbrt, one may happen to find himselt^, in the 
course of a few days, beside the Catholic kneeling before 
the Cross, the Mohammedan bowing to the East, the Jew 
veiled before the ark of the testimony, the Baptist walking 
into the water, the Quaker keeping his head covered in 
the presence of dignitaries and solemnities of all sorts, and 
the Mormon quotiug from the Golden Book which he has 
never seen. 

More, perhaps, than any other city, except Paris or New 
Orleans, this is a place of rapid fluctuation, and never- 
ceasing change. A large portion of the population are 
like mute actors, who tramp across the stage in pantomime 
or pageant, and are seen no more. The enterprising, the 
curious, the reckless, and the criminal, flock hither from 
all quarters of the world, as to a common centre, whence 
they can diverge at pleasure. AVhere men are little 



FROM NEW. YORK. 6t 

known, they are imperfectly restrained ; therefore, great 
numbers here live with somewhat of that wild license 
which prevails in times of pestilence. Life is a reckless 
game, and death is a business transaction. Warehouses 
of ready-made coffins, stand beside warehouses of ready- 
made clothing, and the shroud is sold with spangled opera- 
dresses. Nay, you may chance to see exposed at sheriffs' 
sales, in public squares, piles of coffins, like nests of boxes, 
one within another, with a hole bored in the topmost lid to 
sustain the red flag of the auctioneer, who stands by, de- 
scribing their conveniences and merits, with all the exag- 
gerating eloquence of his tricky trade. 

There is something impressive, even to painfulness, in 
this dense crowding of human existence, this mercantile 
familiarity with death. It has sometimes forced upon me, 
for a few moments, an appalling night-mare sensation of 
vanishing identity ; as if I were but an unknown, unno- 
ticed, and unseparated drop in the great ocean of human 
existence ; as if the uncomfortable old theory were true, 
and we were but portions of a Great Mundane Soul, to 
which we ultimately return, to be swallowed up in its infi- 
nity. But such ideas I expel at once, like phantasms of 
evil, which indeed they are. Unprofitable to all, they have 
a peculiarly bewildering and oppressive power over a mind 
constituted like my own ; so prone to eager questioning of 
the infinite, and curious search into the invisible. I find 
it wiser to forbear inflating this balloon of thought, lest it 
roll me away through unlimited space, until I become like 
the absent man, who put his clothes in bed, and hung him- 
self over the chair ; or like his twin-brother, who laid his 
candle on the pillow, and blew himself out. 

You will, at least, my dear friend, give these letters the 

credit of being utterly unpremeditated ; for Flibbertigibbet 

himself never moved with more unexpected and incoherent 

variety. I have wandered almost as far from my starting 

3* 



58 LETTERS 

point, as Saturn's ring is from Mercury ; but I will returii 
to the varieties in New- York. Among them, I often meet 
a tall Scotsman, with sandy hair and high cheek-bones — a 
regular Sawney, with tartan plaid and bag-pipe. And 
where do you guess he most frequently plies his poetic 
trade ? Why, in the slaughter-houses ! of which a hundred 
or more send forth their polluted breath into the atmos- 
phere of this swarming city hive ! There, if you are curi- 
ous to witness incongruities, you may almost any day see 
grunting pigs or bleating lambs, with throats cut to the tune 
of Highland Mary, or Bonny Doon, or Lochaber No More. 

Among those who have flitted across my path, in this 
thoroughfare of nations, few have interested me more 
strongly than an old sea-captain, who needed only Sir 
Walter's education, his wild excursions through solitary 
dells and rugged mountain-passes, and his familiarity with 
legendary lore, to make him, too, a poet and a romancer. 
Untutored as he was, a rough son of the ocean, he had 
combined in his character the rarest elements of fun and 
pathos ; side by side, they glanced through his conversa- 
tion, in a manner almost Shakspearean. They shone, 
likewise, in his weather-beaten countenance ; for he had 
* the eye of Wordsworth, and the mouth of Moliere.' 

One of his numerous stories particularly impressed my 
imagination, and remains there like a cabinet picture, by 
Claude. He said he was once on board a steamboat, full 
of poor foreigners, going up the Mississippi to some place 
of destination in the yet unsettled wilderness. The room 
where these poor emigrants were huddled together, was 
miserable enough. In one corner, two dissipated-looking 
fellows were squatted on the floor, playing All-fours with 
dirty cards ; in another, lay a victim of intemperance, 
senseless, with a bottle in his hand ; in another, a young 
Englishman, dying of consumption — kindly tended by a 
venerable Swiss emigrant, with his helpful wife, and art- 



FROM N'EW-YORK. 69 

less daughter. The Englishman was an intelligent, well- 
informed young man, who, being unable to marry the object 
of his choice, with any chance of comfortable support in 
his own country, had come to prepare a home for his be- 
loved in the Eldorado of the West. A neglected cold 
brought on lung fever, which left him in a rapid decline ; 
but still, full of hope, he was pushing on for the township 
where he had planned for himself a domestic paradise. 
He was now among strangers, and felt that death was nigh. 
The Swiss emigrants treated him with that thoughtful, 
zealous tenderness, which springs from genial hearts 
deeply imbued with the religious sentiment. One wish of 
his soul they could not gratify, by reason of their igno- 
rance. Being too weak to hold a pen, he earnestly de- 
sired to dictate to some one else a letter to his mother and 
his betrothed. This, Captain T. readily consented to do; 
and promised, so far as in him lay, to carry into effect any 
arrangements he might wish to make. 

Soon after this melancholy duty was fulfilled, the young 
sufferer departed. When the steamboat arrived at its final 
destination, the kind-hearted Captain T. made the best 
arrangements he could for a decent burial. There was no 
chaplain on board ; and, unused as he was to the perform- 
ance of religious ceremonies, he himself read the funeral 
service from a book of Common Prayer, found in the young 
stranger's trunk. The body was tenderly placed on a 
board, and carried out, face upwards, into the silent soli- 
tude of the primeval forest. The sun, verging to the west, 
cast oblique glances through the foliage, and played on the 
pale face in flickering light and shadow. Even the most 
dissipated of the emigrants were sobered by a scene so 
touching and so solemn, and all followed reverently in pro- 
cession. Having dug the grave, they laid him carefully 
within, and replaced the sods above him ; then, sadly ancl 
thoughtfully, they returned slowly to the boat. 



60 LETTERS 

Subdued to tender melancholy by the scene he had Avit- 
nessed, and the unusual service he had performed, Captain 
T. avoided company, and wandered off alone into the 
woods. Unquiet questionings, and far-reaching thoughts 
of God and immortality, lifted his soul toward the Eternal ; 
and heedless of his footsteps, he lost his way in the wind- 
ings of the forest. A widely devious and circuitous route 
brought him within sound of human voices. It was a 
gushing melody, taking its rest in sweetest cadences. 
With pleased surprise, he followed it, and came, suddenly 
and unexpectedly, in view of the new-made grave. The 
kindly Swiss matron, and her innocent daughter, had woven 
a large and beautiful Cross, from the broad leaves of the 
papaw tree, and twined it with the pure white blossoms of 
the trailing Convolvulus. They had placed it reverently 
at the head of the stranger's grave, and kneeling before it, 
chanted their evening hymn to the Virgin. A glowing 
twilight shed its rosy flush on the consecrated symbol, and 
the modest, friendly faces of those humble worshippers. 
Thus beautifully they paid their tribute of respect to the 
unknown one, of another faith, and a foreign clime, who 
had left home and kindred, to die among strangers in the 
wilderness. 

How would the holy gracefulness of this scene have 
melted the heart of his mother and his beloved ! 

I had many more things to say to you ; but I v/ill leave 
them unsaid. I leave you alone with this sweet picture, 
that your memory may consecrate it as mine'has done. 



FROMNEWYORK 6l 



LETTER XI. 

December 9, 1841. 
A friend passing by the Methodist church in Elizabeth 
street, heard such loud and earnest noises issuing there- 
from, that he stepped in to ascertain the cause. A coloured 
■woman was preaching to a full audience, and in a manner 
so remarkable that his attention was at once rivetted. The 
account he gave excited my curiosity, and I sought an in- 
terview with the woman, whom I ascertained to be Julia 
Pell, of Philadelphia. I learned from her that her father 
was one of the innumerable tribe of fugitives from slavery, 
assisted by that indefatigable friend of the oppressed, Isaac 
T. Hopper. This was quite a pleasant surprise to the be- 
nevolent old gentleman, for he was not aware that any of 
Zeek's descendants were living; and it was highly inter- 
esting to him to find one of them in the person of this fe- 
male Whitfield. Julia never knew her father by the name 
of Zeek ; for that was his appellation in slavery, and she 
had known him only as a freeman. Zeek, it seems, had 
been *' sold running," as the term is ; that is, a purchaser 
had given a very small part of his original value, taking 
the risk of not catching him. In Philadelphia, a coloured 
man, named Samuel Johnson, heard a gentleman making 
inquiries concerning a slave called Zeek, whom he had 
"bought running." "I know him very well," said Samuel ; 
" as well as I do myself ; he's a good-for-nothing chap ; 
and you'll be better without him than with him." *' Do 
you think so ?" " Yes, if you gave what you say for him ; 
it was a bite— that's all. He's a lazy, good-for-nothing 
dog ; and you'd better sell your right in him the first chance 
you get." After some further talk, Samuel acknowledged 



62 LETTERS 

that Zeek was his brother. The gentleman advised him 
to buy him; but Samuel protested that he was such a lazy, 
vicious dog, that he wanted nothing to do with him. The 
gentleman began to have so bad an opinion of his bargain, 
that he offered to sell the fugitive for sixty dollars. Sam- 
uel, with great apparent indifference, accepted the terms, 
and the necessary papers were drawn. Isaac T. Hopper 
was in the room during the whole transaction ; and the 
coloured man requested him to examine the papers to see 
that all was right. Being assured that everything was in 
due form, he inquired, " And is Zeek now free ?" " Yes, 
entirely free." " Suppose I was Zeek, and that was the 
man that bought me ; couldn't he take me ?" *' Not any 
more than he could take me," said Isaac. As soon as 
Samuel received this assurance, he made a low bow to 
the gentleman, and, with additional fun in a face always 
roguish, said, " Your servant, sir ; 1 am Zeek !" The 
roguishness characteristic of her father is reflected in some 
degree in Julia's intelligent face ; but imagination, uncul- 
tivated, yet highly poetic, is her leading characteristic. 

Some have the idea that our destiny is prophesied in 
early presentiments ; thus, Hannah More, when a little 
child, used to play, "go up to London and see the bishops" 
— an object for which she afterwards sacrificed a large 
portion of her own moral independence and freedom of 
thought. In Julia Pell's case, " coming events cast their 
shadows before." I asked her when she thought she first 
" experienced religion." She replied, " When I was a 
little girl, father and mother used to go away to meeting on 
Sundays, and leave me and my brothers at home all day. 
So, I thought I'd hold class-meetings, as the Methodists 
did. The children all round in the neighborhood used to 
come to hear me preach. The neighbours complained that 
we made such a noise, shouting and singing ; and every 
Monday father gave us a whipping. At last, he said to 



FROM NEW-YORK. 63 

mother, * I'm tired of beating these poor children every 
week, to satisfy our neighbours. I'll send for my sister to 
come, and she will stay at home on Sundays, and keep 
them out of mischief So my aunt was brought to take 
care of us ; and the next Sunday, when the children came 
thronging to hear me preach, tliey were greatly disappoint- 
ed indeed to hear me say, in a mournful way, ' We can't 
have any more meetings now ; because aunt's come, and 
she wont let us.' When my aunt heard this, she seemed 
to pity me and the children ; and she said if we would get 
through before the folks came home, we might hold a meet- 
ing; for she should like to see for herself what it was we 
did, that made such a fuss among the neighbours. Then we 
had a grand meeting. My aunt's heart was taken hold of 
that very day ; and when we all began to sing, ' Come to 
the Saviour, poor sinner, come !' she cried, and I cried ; 
and when we had done crying, the whole of us broke out 
singing ' Come to the Saviour.' That very instant I felt 
my heart leap up, as if a great load had been taken right 
oft' of it ! That was the beginning of my getting religion; 
and for many years after that, I saw all the time a blue 
smoke rising before my eyes — the whole time a blue smoke, 
rising, rising." As she spoke, she imitated the ascent of 
smoke, by a graceful, undulating motion of her hand. 

" What do you suppose was the meaning of the blue 
smoke ?" said I. 

<♦ I don't know, indeed, ma'am ; but I always supposed 
it was my sins rising before me, from the bottomless pit." 

She told me that when her mother died, some years after, 
she called her to her bed-side, and said, " Julia, the work 
of grace is only begun in you. You haven't got religion 
yet. When you can freely forgive all your enemies, and 
love to do them good, then you may know that the true 
work is completed within you." I thought the wisest 
schools of theology could not have established a better test, 



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I asked Julia, if she had ever tried to learn to read. She 
replied, " Yes, ma'am, I tried once ; because I thought it 
would be such a convenience, if I could read the Bible for 
myself. 1 made good pi ogress, and in a short time could 
spell B-a-k-e-r, as well as anybody. But it dragged my 
mind dowii. It dragged it down. When I tried to think, 
every thing scattered away like smoke, and I could do no- 
thing but spell. Once I got up in an evening meeting to 
speak ; and when I wanted to say, ' Behold the days 
come,' I began ' B-a — .' I was dreadfully ashamed, and 
concluded I'd give up trying to learn to read." 

These, and several other particulars I learned of Julia, 
at the house of Isaac T. Hopper. When abort to leave us, 
she said she felt moved to pray. Accordingly, we all re- 
mained in silence, while she poured forth a brief, but very 
impressive prayer for her venerable host ; of whom she 
spoke as " that good old man, whom thou, Lord, hast 
raised up to do such a blessed work for my down-trodden 
people." 

Julia's quiet, dignified, and even lady-like deportment in 
the parlour, did not seem at all in keeping with what I had 
been told of her in the pulpit, with a voice like a sailor at 
mast-head, and muscular action like Garrick in Mad Tom. 
On the Sunday following, I went to hear her for myself ; 
and in good truth, I consider the event as an era in my life 
never to be forgotten. Such an odd jumbling together of 
all sorts of things in Scripture, such wild fancies, beau- 
tiful, sublime, or grotesque, such vehemence of gesture, 
such dramatic attitudes, I never before heard and witness- 
ed. I verily thought she would have leaped over the pulpit ; 
and if she had, I was almost prepared to have seen her 
poise herself on unseen wings, above the wondering con- 
gregation. 

I know not whether her dress was of her own choosing ; 
but it was tastefully appropriate. A black silk grown, wiih 



FROM NEW. YORK. 65 

plain, white cuffs ; a white muslin kerchief, folded neatly- 
over the breast, and crossed by a broad black scarf, like that 
which bishops wear over the siwplice. 

She began with great moderation, gradually rising in her 
tones, until she arrived at the shouting pitch, common with 
Methodists. This she sustained for an incredible time, 
without taking breath, and with a huskiness of effort, that 
produced a painful sympathy in my own lungs. Imagine 
the following, thus uttered ; that is, spoken without punc- 
tuation. "Silence in Heaven! The Lord said to Ga- 
briel, bid all the angels keep silence. Go up into the third 
heavens, and tell the archangels to hush their golden harps. 
Let the mountains be filled with silence. Let the sea stop 
its roaring, and the earth be still. What's the matter now ? 
Why, man has sinned, and who shall save him ? Let there 
be silence, while God makes search for a Messiah. Go 
down to the earth ; make haste, Gabriel, and inquire if any 
there are worthy ; and Gabriel returned and said, No, not 
one. Go search among the angels, Gabriel, and inquire if 
any there are worthy ; make haste, Gabriel ; and Gabriel 
returned and said, No, not one. But don't be discouraged. 
Don't be discouraged, fellow sinners. God arose in his 
majesty, and he pointed to his own right hand, and said to 
Gabriel, Behold the Lion of the tribe of Judah; he alone is 
worthy. He shall redeem my people." 

You will observe it was purely her own idea, that 
silence reianed on earth and in heaven, while search was 
made for a Messiah. It was a beautifully poetic concep- 
tion, not unworthy of Milton. 

Her description of the resurrection and the day of judg- 
ment, must have been terrific to most of her audience, and 
was highly exciting even to me, whose religious sympathies 
could never be roused by fear. Her figure looked strangely 
fantastic, and even supernatural, as she loomed up above 
the pulpit, to represent the spirits rising from their graves. 



66 LETTERS 

So powerful was her rude eloquence, that it continually im- 
pressed me with grandeur, and once only excited a smile ; 
that was when she described a saint striving to rise, "bu- 
ried perliaps twenty feet deep, with three or four sinners a 
top of him." 

This reminded me of a verse in Dr. Nettleton's Village 
Hymns : 

" Oh how the resurrection light, 

Will clarify believers' sight, 
" How joyful will the saints arise, 

And ruh the dust from off their eyes." 

With a power of imagination singularly strong and vivid, 
she described the resurrection of a young girl, who had 
died a sinner. Her body came from the grave, and her 
soul from the pit, where it had been tormented for many 
years. " The guilty spirit came up with the flames all 
around it — rolling — rolling — rolling." She suited the ac- 
tion to the word, as Siddons herself might have done. Then 
she described the body wailing and shrieking, " Lord ! 
must I take that ghost again ? Must I be tormented with 
that burning ghost for ever ?" 

Luckily for the excited feelings of her audience, she 
changed the scene, and brought before us the gospel ship, 
laden with saints, and bound for the heavenly shore. The 
majestic motion of a vessel on the heaving sea, and the 
fluttering of its pennon in the breeze, was imitated with wild 
gracefulness by the motion of her hands. " It touched the 
strand. Oh ! it was a pretty morning ! and at the first tap 
of Heaven's bell, the angels came crowding round, to bid 
them welcome. There you and I shall meet, my beloved 
fellow-travellers. Farewell — Farewell — I have it in my 
temporal feelings that I shall never set foot in this New- 
York again. Farewell on earth, but I shall meet you 
there," pointing reverently upward. *' May we all be 
aboard that blessed ship." Shouts throughout the audi- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 67 

ence, "We will ! We will !" Stirred by such responses, 
Julia broke out with redoubled fervour, " Farewell — fare- 
well. Let the world say what they will of me, I shall 
surely meet you in Heaven's broad bay. Hell clutched 
me, but it hadn't energy enough to hold me. Farewell on 
earth. I shall meet you in the morning." Again and 
again she tossed her arms abroad, and uttered her wild 
" farewell ;" responded to by the loud farewell of a whole 
congregation, like the shouts of an excited populace. Her 
last words were the poetic phrase, " I shall meet you in the 
morning .'" 

Her audience were wrought up to the highest pitch of 
enthusiasm I ever witnessed. " That's God's truth !" 
" Glory !" " Amen !" " Hallelujah !" resounded throughout 
the crowded house. Emotion vented itself in murmuring, 
stamping, shouting, singing, and wailing. It was like the 
uproar of a sea lashed by the winds. 

You know that religion has always come to me in still- 
ness ; and that the machinery of theological excitement has 
ever been as powerless over my soul, as would be the exor- 
cisms of a wizard. You are likewise aware of my tendency 
to generalize ; to look at truth as u?iive?-sal, not merely in 
its particular relations ; to observe human nature as a whole, 
and not in fragments. This propensity, greatly strength- 
ened by the education of circumstances, has taught me to 
look calmly on all forms of religious opinion — not with the 
indifference, or the scorn, of unbelief ; but with a friendly 
wish to discover everywhere the great central ideas com- 
mon to all religious souls, though often re-appearing in the 
strangest disguises, and lisping or jabbering in the most 
untranslatable tones. 

Yet combined as my religious character is, of quiet mys- 
ticism, and the coolest rationality, will you believe me, I 
could scarcely refrain from shouting Hurra ! for that heaven- 
bound ship ; and the tears rolled down my cheeks, as that 



68 LETTERS 

dusky priestess of eloquence reiterated her wild and solemn 
farewell. 

If she gained such power over my spirit, there is no 
cause to marvel at the tremendous excitement throughout 
an audience so ignorant, and so keenly susceptible to out- 
ward impressions. I knew not how the high- wrought en- 
thusiasm would be let down in safety. The shouts died 
away, and returned in shrill fragments of echoes, like the 
trembling vibrations of a harp, swept with a strong hand, to 
the powerful music of a war-song. Had I remembered a 
lively Methodist tune, as well as I recollected the words, 
I should have broke forth : 

" The gospel ship is sailing by ! 
The Ark of safety now is nigh, 
Come, sinners, unto Jesus fly, 
Improve the day of grace. 
Oh, there'll be glory, hallelujah, 
When we arrive at home I" 

The same instinct that guided-me, impelled the audience 
to seek rest in music, for their panting spirits and quiver- 
ing nerves. All joined spontaneously in singing an old fa- 
miliar tune, more quiet than the bounding, billowy tones of 
my favourite Gospel Ship. Blessings on music ! Like a 
gurgling brook to feverish lips are sweet sounds to the 
heated and weary soul. 

Everybody round me could sing; and the tones were soft 
and melodious. The gift of song is universal with Afri- 
cans ; and the fact is a prophetic one. Sculpture blossom- 
ed into its fullest perfection in a Physical Age, on which 
dawned the intellectual ; Painting blossomed in an Intel- 
lectual Age, warmed by the rising sun of moral sentiment; 
and now Music goes forward to its culmination in the com- 
ing Spiritual Age. Now is the time that Ethiopia begins 
" to stretch forth her hands." Her soul, so long silenced, 
will yet utter itself in music's highest harmony. 



FROMNEW-YORK. 69 

When the audience paused, Mr. Matthews, their pastor, 
rose to address them. He is a religious-minded man, to 
"whose good influence Julia owes, under God, her present 
state of mind. She always calls him " father," and speaks 
of him with the most affectionate and grateful reverence. 
At one period of her life, it seems that she was led astray 
by temptations, which peculiarly infest the path of coloured 
women in large cities ; but ever since her '' conversion to 
God," she has been strictly exemplary in her walk and 
conversation. In her own expressive language, " Hell 
clutched her, but hadn't energy enough to hold her." The 
missteps of her youth are now eagerly recalled by those 
who love to stir polluted waters ; and they are brought for- 
ward as reasons why she ought not to be allowed to preach. 
I was surprised to learn that to this prejudice was added 
another, against women's preaching. This seemed a strange 
idea for Methodists, some of whose brightest ornaments 
have been women preachers. As far back as Adam Clarke's 
time, his objections were met by the answer, " If an Ass 
reproved Balaam, and a barn-door foivl reproved Peter, 
why shouldn't a woman reprove sin ?" 

This classification with donkeys and fowls is certainly 
not very complimentary. The first comparison I heard 
most wittily replied to, by a coloured woman who had onc& 
been a slave. *' Maybe a speaking woman is like an Ass," 
said she ; " but I can tell you one thing — the Ass saw the 
angel, when Balaam didn't.'"' 

Father Matthews, after apologizing for various misquota- 
tions of Scripture, on the ground of Julia's inability to read, 
added : " But the Lord has evidently called this woman to 
a great work. He has made her mighty to the salvation of 
many souls, as a cloud of witnesses can testify. Some 
say she ought not to preach, because she is a woman. But 
I say, ' Let the Lord send by whom he icill send.' Let 
everybody that has a message, deliver it — whether man or 



70 LETTERS 

woman, white or coloured! Some say women mustn't 
preach, because they were first in the transgression ; but it 
seems to me hard that if they helped us into sin, they 
shouldn't be suffered to help us out. I say, ' Let the Lord 
send by whom he icill send j' and my pulpit shall be al- 
ways open." 

Thus did the good man instil a free principle into those 
uneducated minds, like gleams of light through chinks in a 
prison-wall. Who can foretell its manifold and ever-increas- 
ing results in the history of that long-crippled race ? Verily 
great is the Advent of a true Idea, made manifest to men ; 
and great are the miracles it works — making the blind to 
see, and the lame to walk. 



LETTER XII. 

January 1, 1482. 

I wish you a Happy New-Year. A year of brave con- 
flict with evil, within and without — a year of sinless victo- 
ries. Would that some fairy, whose word fulfils itself in 
fate, would wish me such a year ! Yet scarcely are the 
words written, when I fall to pitying myself, in view of the 
active images they have conjured up; and my soul turns, 
Avilh wistful gaze, towards the green pastures and still wa- 
ters of spiritual quietude, and poetic ease. Yet were the 
aforesaid fairy standing before me, ready to grant whatsoever 
I might ask, I think I should have strength enough to choose 
a year of conflict for the good of my race ; but it should be 
warfare without poisoned arrows, and fought on the broad 
table-land of high mountains, never descending into the 
narrow by-paths of personal controversy, or chasing its foe 
through the crooked lanes of policy. In all ages of the 



FROM NEW. YORK. 71 

world, Truth has suffered much at the hands of her dis- 
ciples, because they have been ever tempted to use the 
weapons her antagonists have chosen. Let us learn wis- 
dom by the Past. The warnings that sigh through expe- 
rience, and the hope that smiles through prophecy, both 
have power to strengthen us. 

The Past and the Future ! how vast is the sound, how 
infinite the significance ! Hast thou well considered of 
the fact, that all the Past is reproduced in thee, and all the 
Future prophesied ? Had not Pharaoh's daughter saved 
the Hebrew babe, and brought him up in all the learning 
of the Egyptians ; had not Plato's soul uttered itself in 
harmony with the great choral hymn of the universe ; had 
not Judean shepherds listened in the deep stillness of moon- 
light, on the mountains, to angels chanting forth the primal 
notes whence all music flows — Worship, Peace, and Love ; 
had any one of these been silent, wouldst thou have been 
what thou art ? Nay, thou wouldst have been altogether 
another ; unable even to comprehend thy present self. Had 
Christianity remained in dens and caves, instead of clothing 
itself in outward symbols of grandeur and of beauty; had 
cathedrals never risen in towered state, 

" And over hill and dell 
Gone sounding with a royal voice 
The stately minster bell ;" 

had William the Norman, never divided Saxon lands by 
force, and then united his new piratical state in solemn 
marriage with the Church ; had Luther never thrown his 
inkstand at the Devil, and hit him hard ; had Bishop Laud 
never driven heretics, by fire and faggot, to the rocky shores 
of New England; had William Penn taken off his hat to 
the Duke of York — would thy present self have been known 
to thyself, couldst thou have seen its features in a mirror ? 
Nay, verily. Thou art made up of all that has preceded 
thee ; and thus was thy being predestined. And because 



72 LETTERS 

it is thus in the inward spirit, it is so in the outward world. 
Our very uhawls bear ornaments found in Egyptian cata- 
combs, and our sofas rest on the mysterious Sphinx ; Ca- 
ryatides, which upheld the roof of Diana's ancient temple, 
stand with the same quiet and graceful majesty, to sustain 
the lighter burden of our candelabras and lamps ; and the 
water of modern wells flows into vases, whose beautiful 
forms were dug from the lava of long-buried Herculaneum. 

Truth is immortal. No fragment of it ever dies. From 
time to time, the body dies off it ; but it rises in a more 
perfect form, leaving its grave-clothes behind it, to be, per- 
chance, worshipped as living things, by those who love to 
watch among the tombs. Every line of beauty is the 
expression of a thought, and shares the immortality of its 
origin ; hence the beautiful acanthus leaf is transferred 
from Corinthian capitals to Parisian scarfs, and English 
calicoes. 

It is said that the bow of a violin drawn across the edge 
of a glass covered with sand, leaves notes of music Avrilten 
on the sand. Thus do the vibrations of the Present leave 
its tune engraven on the soul ; and in the lapse of time, we 
call those wrhten notes the language of the Past. Thus art 
thou the child of the Past, and the father of the Future. 
Thou standest on the Present, " like the sea-bird (m a rock 
in mid ocean, with the immensity of waters behind him, 
ready to plunge into the immensity of waters before him." 

Art thou a Reformer ? Beware of the dangers of thy po- 
sition. Let not the din of the noisy Present drown the 
music of the Past. Be assured there is no tone comes to 
thee from the far-off ocean of olden lime, which is not a 
chord in the eternal anthem of the universe ; else had it 
been drowned in the roaring waves, long before it came to 
thee. 

Reform as thou wilt ; for the Present and the Future 
have need of this ; but let no rude scorn breathe on the 



FROM NEW-YORK. 73 

Past. Lay thy head lovingly in her lap, and let the glance 
of her eye pass into thine ; for she has been to thee a mo- 
ther, 

** I can scorn nothing which a nation's heart 

Hath held for ages holy : for the heart 

Is alike holy in its strength and weakness ; 

It ought not to be jested with nor scorned. 

All things to me are sacred that have been. 

And though earth like a river streaked with blood, 

Which tells a long and silent tale of death, 

May blush her history and hide her eyes, 

The Past is sacred — it is God's, not ours ; 

Let her and us do better if we can." 

At no season does the thoughtful soul so much realize 
that it ever stands " between two infinities " — never does 
it so distinctly recognise the presence of vast ideas, that 
look before and after, as when the Old Year turns away 
its familiar face, and goes off to join its veiled! sisterhood 
beyond the flood. It is true that every day ends a year, 
and that which precedes our birth-day does, in an especial 
manner, end our year ; yet is there somewhat peculiarly 
impressive in that epoch, which whole nations recognize as 
a foot-print of departing time. 

The season itself has a wailing voice. The very sky 
in spring-time laughingly says, " How do you do ?" but in 
winter it looks a mute farewell. " The year is dying away," 
says Goethe, " like the sound of bells. The wind passes 
over the stubble, and finds nothing to move. Only the red 
berries of that slender tree seem as if they would fain re- 
mind us of something cheerful ; and the measured beat of 
the thresher's flail calls up the thought that in the dry and 
fallen ear lies so much of nourishment and life.^' 

Thus Hope springs ever from the bosom of sadness. A 
welcome to the New- Year mingles with our fond farewell 
to the old. Hail to the Present, with all the work it brings ! 
Its restlessness, if looked at aright, becomes a golden pro- 

4 



74 LETTERS 

phecy. We will not read its prose, and count our stops, 
as schools have taught ; but the heart shall chant it ; and 
tones shall change the words to music, that shall write itself 
on all coming time. 

New- York welcomes the new year, in much the same 
style that she does every thing else. She is not prone, as 
the Quakers say, ^' to get into the stillness," to express any 
of her emotions. Such a hubbub as v\^as kept up on the 
night of the 31st, I never heard. Such a firing out of the 
old year, and such a firing in of the new ! Fourth of July 
in Boston is nothing compared to it. The continual dis- 
charge of guns and pistols prevented my reading or writing 
in peace, and I took refuge in bed ; but every five minutes 
a lurid flash darted athwart the walls, followed by the hate- 
ful crash of fire-arms. If any good thing is expressed by 
that sharp voice, it lies beyond the power of my imagina- 
tion to discover it ; why men should choose it for the utter- 
ance of joy, is more than I can tell. 

The racket of these powder-devilkins kept me awake till 
two o'clock. At five, I was roused by a stout Hibernian 
voice, almost under my window, shouting " Pa-ther !" *' Fa- 
ther !" Feter did not answer, and oft' went a pistol. 

Upon this, Feter was fain to put his head out of the win- 
dow, and inquire what was wanted. " A bright New Year 
to ye. Fa ther. Get up and open the door." 

The show in the shop-windows, during the week be- 
tween Christmas and New- Year's, was splendid, I assure 
you. All that Parisian taste, or English skill could furnish, 
was spread out to tempt the eye. How I did want the 
wealth of Rothschild, that I might make all the world a 
present ! and then, methinks, I could still long for another 
world to endow. The happiness of Heaven must consist 
in loving and giving. What else is there worth living for 1 
I have often involuntarily applied to myself a remark made 



FROMNEW-YORK. 75 

by Madam Roland. *' Reflecting upon what part I was 
fitted to perform in the world," says she, " I could never 
think of any that quite satisfied me, but that of Divine Pro- 
vidence." To some, this may sound blasphemous ; it was, 
however, merely the spontaneous and childlike utterance of 
a loving and liberal soul. 

Though no great observer of times and seasons, I do like 
the universal custom of ushering in the new year with gifts 
and gladsome wishes. I will not call these returnino- sea- 
sons notches cut in a stick, to count our prison hours, but 
rather a garlanding of mile-stones on the way to our Father's 
mansion. 

In New-York, they observe this festival after the old 
Dutch fashion ; and the Dutch, you know, were famous 
lovers of good eating. No lady, that is a lady, M'ill be 
out in the streets on the first of January. Every woman, 
that is " anybody," stays at home, dressed in her best, and 
by her side is a table covered with cakes, preserves, wines, 
oysters, hot cofTee, &c. ; and as every gentleman is in honor 
bound to call on every lady, whose acquaintance he does not 
intend to cut, the amount of eating and drinking done by 
some fashionable beaux must of course be very considerable. 
The number of calls is a matter of pride and boasting amono- 
ladies, and there is, of course, considerable rivalry in the 
magnificence and variety of the eating tables. This cus- 
tom is eminently Dutch in its character, and will pass away 
before a higher civilization. 

To furnish forth this treat, the shops vied with each other 
to the utmost. Confectionary abounded in the shape of 
every living thing ; beside manj^- things nowhere to be 
found, not evoa among gnomes, or fairies, or uncouth mer- 
rows of the sea. Cakes were of every conceivable shape 
— pyramids, obelisks, towers, pagodas, castles, &c. Some 
frosted loaves nestled lovingly in a pretty basket of sugar 
< ggs ; others were garlanded with flowers, or surmounted 



76 LETTERS 

by cooing doves, or dancing ciipids. Altogether, they made 
a pretty show in Broadway — too pretty — since the object 
was to minister to heartless vanity, or tempt a sated appe- 
tite. 

But I will not moralize. Let ns all have virtue, and then 
there will be no further need to talk of it, as the German 
wisely said. 

There is one lovely feature in this annual festival. It is 
a season when all past neglect, all family feuds, all heart- 
burning and estrangement among friends may be forgotten 
and laid aside for ever. They who have not spoken for 
years may renew acquaintance, without any unpleasant 
questions asked, if they signify a wish to do so by calling 
on the first of January. Wishing all may copy this warm 
bit of colouring in our social picture, I bid you farewell, with 
my heart's best blessing, and this one scrap of morals : May 
you treat every human being as you would treat him, and 
speak of every one as you would speak, if sure that death 
would part you before next New-Year's Day. 



LETTERXIII. 

January 20, 1842. 

Is your memory a daguerreotype machine, taking instan- 
taneous likenesses of whatsoever the light of imagination 
happens to rest upon ? I wish mine were not ; especially 
in a city like this — unless it would be more select in its 
choice, and engrave only the beautiful. Though T should 
greatly prefer the green fields, with cows, chewing the cud, 
under shady trees, by the side of deep, quiet pools — still I 
would find no fault, to have my gallery partly filled with the 
palaces of our " merchant princes," built of the sparkling 
Sing Sing marble, which glitters in the sunlight, like fairy 
domes ; but the aforesaid daguerreotype will likewise en- 



FROM NEW- YORK. T7 

grave an ugly, angular building, which stands at the corner 
of Division-street, protruding its sharp corners into the 
midst of things, determined that all the world shall see it, 
whether it will or no, and covered with signs from cellar 
to garret, to blazen forth all it contains. 'Tis a caricature 
likeness of the nineteenth century ; and like the nineteenth 
century it plagues me ; I would I could get quit of it. 

I know certain minds, imbued with poetic philosophy, 
who earnestly seek all forms of outward beauty in this 
world, beheving that their images become deeply impressed 
on the soul that loves them, and thus constitute its scenery 
through eternity. If I had faith in this theory, that large 
and many-labelled thing of bricks and mortar, at the corner 
of Division-street, would almost drive me mad ; for though 
the spirit of beauty can witness that I love it not, its lines 
are branded into my mind with most disagreeable distinct- 
ness. I know not why it is so ; for assuredly this is not a 
sinner above many other structures, built by contract, and 
inhabited by trade. 

Luckily, no forms can re-appear in another world, which 
are not within the soul. The sublime landscape there be- 
longs to him who has spiritually retired apart into high 
places to pray ; not to the cultivated traveller with his 
mind's portfolio filled with images of Alpine scenery, or of 
huge Plinlimmon veiled in clouds. The gardens there are 
not for nabobs, who exchange rupees for rare and fragrant 
roses ; but for humble, loving souls, who cherish those 
sweet charhies of life, that lie, " scattered at the feet of 
man like flowers." Thanks be to Him who careth for all 
he hath made, the poor child running about naked in the 
miserable abodes at Five Points, though the whole of his 
mortal life should be of hardship and privation, may, by the 
grace of God, fashion for himself as beautiful an eternity, 
as Victoria's son ; nay, perchance his situation, bad as it 
is, involves even less danger of losing that beauty which 



78 LETTERS 

alone remains, when the world, and all images thereof, 
pass away, like mist before the rising sun. The outward 
is but a seeming and a show ; the inward alone is perma- 
nent and real. 

That men have small faith in this, is witnessed by their 
doings. Parents shriek with terror to see a beloved child 
on the steep roof of lofty buildings, lest his body should fall 
a mutilated heap upon the pavement ; but they can, with- 
out horror, send him to grow rich by trade, in such places 
as Havana or New Orleans, where his soul is almost sure 
to fall, battered and crushed, till scarcely one feature of 
God's image remains to be recojjnised. If heaven were 
to them as real as earth, they could not thus make contracts 
with Satan, to buy the shadow for the substance. 

Alas, how few of us, even the wisest and the best, believe 
in Truth, and are willing to trust it altogether. — How we 
pass through life in simulation and false shows ! In our 
pitiful anxiety how we shall appear before men, we forget 
how we appear before angels. Yet is their " public 
opinion" somewhat that concerns us most nearly. Passing 
by the theatre, I saw announced for performance a comedy, 
called the " Valley de Sham." That simple sentence of 
mis-spelled French brought to my mind a whole rail-road 
train of busy thought. I smiled as I read it, and said 
within myself, Is not that comedy New- York ? Nay, is 
not the whole world a Valley of Sham ? Are not you, and 
I, and every other mortal, the " valet" of some " sham'' or 
other ? 

" I scorn this hated scene 
Of masking and disguise, 
Where men on men still gleam, 
With falseness in their eyes ; 
Where all is counterfeit, 
And truth hath never say ; 
Where hearts themselves do cheat, 
Concealing hope's decay ; 



FROM NEW-YORK. 79 

And writhing at the stake, 
Themselves do liars make." 

" Go search thy heart, poor fool, 
And mark its passions well ; 
'Twere time to go to school — 
'Twere time the truth to tell — 
'Twere time this world should cast 
Its infant slough away, 
And hearts burst forth at last, 
Into the light of day : — 
'Twere time all learned to be 
Fit for Eternity." 

My friend, hast thou ever thought how pleasant, and 
altogether lovely, would be a life of entire sincerity, married 
to perfect love ? The wildest stories of magic skill, or fairy 
power, could not equal the miracles that would be wrought 
by such a life ; for it would change this hollow masque- 
rade of veiled and restless souls into a place of divine com- 
munion. 

Oh, let us no longer utter false, squeaking voices, through 
our stifling masks. If we have attained so far as to speah 
no lie, let us make the nobler effort to live none. Art thou 
troubled with vain fears concerning to-day's bread and to- 
morrow's garment? Let thy every word and act be per- 
fect truth, uttered in genuine love ; and though thou mayest 
ply thy spiritual trades all unconscious of their results, yet 
be assured that thus, and thus only, canst thou weave royal 
robes of eternal beauty, and fill ample storehouses, to re- 
main long after Wall-street and State-street have crumbled 
into dust. 

Be true to thyself. Let not the forms of business, or the 
conventional arrangements of society, seduce thee into false- 
hood. Have no fears of the harshness of sincerity. Truth 
is harsh, only when divorced from Love. There is no re- 
finement like holiness \ " for which humility is the other 



80 LETTERS 

name." Politeness is but a parrot mockery of her heavenly 
tones, which the world lisps and stammers, to imitate, as 
best she can, the pure language known to us only in beau- 
tiful fragments. Not through the copy shall the fair origi- 
nal ever be restored. 

Above all, be true to thyself in religious utterance, or 
remain for ever silent. Speak only according to thy own 
genuine, inward experience ; and look well to it, that thou 
repeatestno phrase prescribed by creeds, or familiarly used 
by sects, unless that phrase really conveys some truth into 
thine own soul. There is far too much of this muttering 
of dead language. Indeed, the least syllable of it is too 
much, for him who has faith in the God of truth. Wouldst 
thou give up thy plain, expressive English, to mumble Greek 
phrases, without the dimmest perception of their meaning, 
because schools and colleges have taught that they mean 
thus and so 1 Or wilt thou maintain a blind reverence for 
words, which really have no more life for thee than old gar- 
ments stuffed with chaff? Multitudes who make no " profes- 
sion of religion,'' as the phrase is, are passively driven in the 
traces of a blind sectarism from which they lack either the 
energy or the courage to depart. When I see such startled 
by an honest inquiry what is really meant by established 
forms, or current phrases, I am reminded of the old man 
in the play, who said, " I speak no Greek, though I love 
the sound on't ; it goes so thundering, as it conjured devils." 

Not against any form, or phrase, do I enter a protest; but 
only against its unmeaning use. If to thy soul it really 
embodies truth, to tbee it should be most sacred. But spi- 
ritual dialects, learned and spoken by rote, are among the 
worst of mockeries. " The man who claims to speak as 
books enable, as synods use, as fashion guides, or as in- 
terest commands, babbles. Let him hush."' 

Be true to thy friend. Never speak of his faults to an- 
. other, to show thy own discrimination ; but open them all to 



FROM NEW-YORK. 81 

him, with candor and true gentleness. Forgive all his 
errors and his sins, be they ever so many ; but do not ex- 
cuse the slightest deviation from rectitude. Never forbear 
to dissent from a false opinion, or a wrong practice, from 
mistaken motives of kindness ; nor seek thus to have thy 
own v/eaknesses sustained ; for these things cannot be 
done without injury to the soul. " God forbid," says Emer- 
son, " that when I look to friendship as a firm rock to sustain 
me in moral emergencies, I should find it nothing but a 
mush of concession. Better be a nettle in the side of my 
friend, than to be merely his echo." 

As thou wouldst be true to thy friend, be so likewise to 
thy country. Love her, with all her faults ; but on the 
faults themselves pour out thy honest censure. Thus shalt 
thou truly serve her, and best rebuke the hirelings that 
would make her lose her freedom for the tickling of her 
ears. 

Lastly, be true to the world. Benevolence, like music, 
is a universal language. It cannot freely utter itself in dia- 
lects, that belong to a nation, or a clan. In its large sig- 
nificance, the human race is to thee a brother and a friend. 
Posterity needs much at thy hands, and will receive much, 
whether thou art aware of it, or not. Thou mayest deem 
thyself without influence, and altogether unimportant. Be= 
lieve it not. Thy simplest act, thy most casual word, is 
cast into " the great seed-field of human thought, and will re- 
appear, as poisonous weed, or herb-medicinal, after a 
thousand years." 

Many live as if they were not ashamed to adopt prac- 
tically the selfish creed, uttered in folly or in fun, " Why 
should I do anything for posterity ? Posterity has done 
nothing for me." Ay; but the Past has done much for 
thee, and has given the Future an order upon thee for the 
payment. If thou hast received counterfeit coin, melt out 
the drosS; and return true metal. 
4* 



82 LETTERS 



LETTER XIV. 

February 17, 1842. 

I was always eager for the spring-time, but never so much 
as now. 

Patience yet a little longer ! and I shall find delicate bells 
of the trailing arbutus, fragrant as an infant's breath, hidden 
deep, under their coverlid of autumn leaves, like modest 
worth in this pretending world. My spirit is weary for 
rural rambles. It is sad walking in the city. The streets 
shut out the sky, even as commerce comes between the soul 
and heaven. The busy throng, passing and repassing, 
fetter freedom, while they offer no sympathy. The loneli- 
ness of the soul is deeper, and far more restless, than in the 
solitude of the mighty forest. Wherever are woods and 
fields I find a home; each tinted leaf and shining pebble 
is to me a friend ; and wherever I spy a wild flower, I am 
ready to leap up, clap my hands, and exclaim, " Cockatoo ! 
he know me very well !" as did the poor New Zealander, 
when he recognised a bird of his native clime, in the men- 
ageries of London. 

But amid these magnificent masses of sparkling marble, 
hewn in prison, I am all alone. For eight weary months, 
I have met in the crowded streets but two faces I had ever 
seen before. Of some, I would I could say that I should 
never see them again ; but they haunt me in my sleep, and 
come between me and the morning. Beseeching looks, 
begging the comfort and the hope I have no power to give. 
Hungry eyes, that look as if they had pleaded long for 
sympathy, and at last gone mute in still despair. Through 
what woful, what frightful masks, does the human soul look 
forth, leering, peeping, and defying, in this thoroughfare of 
nations. Yet in each and all lie the capacities of an arch-^ 



FROM NEW. YORK. 8^ 

angel ; as the majestic oak lies enfolded in the acorn that 
we tread carelessly under foot, and which decays, per- 
chance, for want of soil to root in. 

The other day, I went forth for exercise merely, without 
other hope of enjoyment than a farewell to the setting sun, 
on the now deserted Battery, and a fresh kiss from the 
breezes of the sea, ere they passed through the polluted 
city, bearing healing on their wings. I had not gone far, 
when I met a little ragged urchin, about four years old, with 
a heap of newspapers, " more big as he could carry," under 
his liitle arm, and another clenched in his small, red fist. 
The sweet voice of childhood was prematurely cracked in- 
to shrillness, by screaming street cries, at the top of his 
lungs ; and he looked blue, cold, and disconsolate. May 
the angels guard him ! How I wanted to warm him in my 
heart. I stood, looking after him, as he went shivering 
along. Imagination followed him to the miserable cellar 
where he probably slept on dirty straw ; I saw him flogged, 
after his day of cheerless toil, because he had failed to bring 
home pence enough for his parents' grog ; I saw wicked 
ones come muttering and beckoning between his young 
soul and heaven ; they tempted him to steal, to avoid the 
dreaded beating. I sa\v him, years after, bewildered and 
frightened, in the police-office, surrounded by hard faces. 
Their law-jargon conveyed no meaning to his ear, awakened 
no slumbermg moral sense, taught him no clear distinction 
between right and wrong ; but from their cold, harsh tones, 
and heartless merriment, he drew the inference that they 
were enemies ; and, as such, he hated them. At that mo- 
ment, one tone like a mother's voice might have wholly 
changed his earthly destiny ; one kind word of friendly 
counsel might have saved him — as if an angel, standing in 
the genial sunlight, had thrown to him one end of a garland, 
and gently diminishing the distance between them, had 
drawn him safely out of the deep and tangled labyrinth, 



84 LETTERS 

where false echoes and winding paths conspired to make 
him lose his way. 

But watchmen and constables were around him, and 
they have small fellowship with angels. The strong im- 
pulses that might have become overwhelming love for his 
race, are perverted to the bitterest hatred. He tries the uni- 
versal resort of weakness against force ; if they are too 
strong for him, he will be too cunning for them. Their 
cunning is roused to detect his cunning : and thus the gal- 
lows-game is played, with interludes of damnable merriment 
from police reports, whereat the heedless muUitudelaugh ; 
while angels weep over the slow murder of a human soul. 

When, oh when, will men learn that society makes and 
cherishes the very crimes it so fiercely punishes, and in 
punishing reproduces ? 

*' The key of knowledge first ye take away, 
And then, because ye've robbed him, ye enslave ; 
Ye ehut out from him the sweet light of day, 
And then, because he's in the dark, ye pave 
The road, that leads him to his wished-for grave, 
With stones of stumbling : then, if he but tread 
Darkling and slow, ye eall him " fool " and " knave"— 
Doom him to toil, and yet deny him bread : 
Chains round his limbs ye throw, and curses on his head." 
God grant the little shivering carrier-boy a brighter des- 
tiny than I have foreseen for him. 

A little further on, I encountered two young boys fighting 
furiously for some coppers, that had been given them and 
had fallen on the pavement. They had matted black hair, 
large, lustrous eyes, and an olive complexion. They were 
evidently foreign children, from the sunny clime of Italy or 
Spain, and nature had made them subjects for an artist's 
dream. Near by on the cold stone steps, sat a ragged, ema- 
ciated woman, whom I conjectured, from the resemblance 
of her large, dark eyes, might be their mother; but she 
looked on their fight with languid indifl^erence, as if seeing, 
she saw it not. I spoke to her, and she shook her head in 



FROM NEW-YORK. 85 

a mournful way, that told me she did not understand my 
language. Poor, forlorn wanderer ! would I could place 
thee and thy beautiful boys under shelter of sun-ripened 
vines, surrounded by the music of thy mother-land ! Pence 
I will give thee, though political economy reprove the deed. 
They can but appease the hunger of the body ; they can- 
not soothe the hunger of thy heart ; that I obey the kindly 
impulse may make the world none the better — perchance 
some iota the worse ; yet I must needs follow it — I cannot 
otherwise. 

I raised my eyes above the woman's weather-beaten head, 
and saw behind the window, of clear, plate glass, large va- 
ses of gold and silver, curiously wrought. They spoke 
significantly of the sad contrasts in this disordered world ; 
and excited in my mind whole volumes, not of political, but 
of angelic economy. " Truly," said I, '' if the Law of Love 
prevailed, vases of gold and silver might even more abound 
— but no homeless outcast would sit shivering beneath their 
glittering mockery. All would be richer, and no man the 
poorer. When will the world learn its best wisdom ? When 
will the mighty discord come into heavenly harmony ?'' I 
looked at the huge stone structures of commercial wealth, 
and they gave an answer that chilled my heart. Weary of 
city walks, I would have turned homeward ; but nature, 
ever true and harmonious, beckoned to me from the Battery, 
and the glowing twilight gave me friendly welcome. It 
seemed as if the dancing Spring Hours ha^d thrown their 
rosy mantles on old silvery winter in the lavishness of 
youthful love. 

I opened my heart to the gladsome influence, and forgot 
that earth was not a mirror of the heavens. It was but for 
a moment ; for there under the leafless trees, lay two ragged 
little boys, asleep in each other's arms. I remembered hav- 
ing read in the police reports, the day before, that two little 
children, thus found, had been taken up as vagabonds. They 



66 LETTERS 

told, with simple pathos, how both their mothers had been 
dead for months ; how they had formed an intimate friend- 
ship, had begged together, ate together, hungered together, 
and together slept uncovered beneath the steel-cold stars. 

The twilight seemed no longer warm ; and brushing away 
a tear, I walked hastily homeward. As I turned into the 
street where God has provided me with a friendly shelter, 
something lay across my path. It was a woman, appa- 
rently dead; with garments all draggled in New-York gut- 
ters, blacker than waves of the infernal rivers. Those who 
gathered around, said she had fallen in intoxication, and 
was rendered senseless by the force of the blow. They 
carried her to the watch-house, and the doctor promised 
she should be well attended. But, alas, for watch-house 
charities to a breaking heart! I could not bring myself to 
think otherwise than that hers was a breaking^ heart. Could 
she but give a full revelation of early emotions checked in 
their full and kindly flow, of affections repressed, of hopes 
blighted, and energies misemployed through ignorance, the 
heart would kindle and melt, as it does when genius stirs 
its deepest recesses. 

It seemed as if the voice of human wo was destined to 
follow me through the whole of that unblest day. Late in 
the night I heard the sound of voices in the street, and rais- 
ing the window, saw a poor, staggering woman in the hands 
of a watchman. My ear caught the words, " Thank you 
kindly, sir. I should like to go home." The sad and 
humble accents in which the simple phrase was uttered, 
the dreary image of the watch-house, which that poor 
wretch dreamed was her home, proved too much for my 
overloaded sympathies. I hid my face in the pillow, and 
wept ; for " my heart was almost breaking with the misery 
of my kind." 

I thought, then, that I would walk no more abroad, till 
the fields were green. But my mind and body grow alike 



FROM NEW-YORK. 87 

impatient of being enclosed within walls ; both ask for the 
free breeze, and the wide, blue dome that overarches and 
embraces all. Again I rambled forth, under the February- 
sun, as mild and genial as the breath of June. Heart, mind, 
and frame grew glad and strong, as we wandered on, past 
the old Stuyvesant church, which a few years agone v/as 
surrounded by fields and Dutch farm-houses, but now stands 
in the midst of peopled streets ; — and past the trim, new 
houses, with their green verandahs, in the airy suburbs. 
Following the railroad, which lay far beneath our feet, as 
we wound our way over the hills, we came to the burying- 
ground of the poor. Weeds and brambles grew along the 
sides, and the stubble of last year's grass waved over it, 
like dreary memories of the past ; but the sun smiled on it, 
like God's love on the desolate soul. It was inexpressibly 
touching to see the frail memorials of affection, placed there 
by hearts crushed under the weight of poverty. In one 
place was a small rude cross of wood, with the initials J. 
S. cut with a penknife, and apparently filled wilh ink. In 
another a small hoop had been bent into the form of a heart* 
painted green, and nailed on a stick at the head of the grave. 
On one upright shingle was painted only "Mutter ;'' the 
German word for Mother. On another was scrawled, as 
if with charcoal, " So rulie luohl, du unser liebes hind.^^ 
(Rest well, our beloved child.) One recorded life's brief 
history thus : '' H. G. born in Bavaria ; died in New-York." 
Another short epitaph, in French, told that the sleeper came 
from the banks of the Seine. 

The predominance of foreign epitaphs affected me deep- 
ly. Who could now tell with what high hopes those de- 
parted ones had left the heart-homes of Germany, the 
sunny hills of Spain, the laughing skies of Italy, or the 
wild beauty of Switzerland? Would not the friends they 
had left in their childhood's home, weep scalding tears to 
find them in a pauper's grave, with their initials rudely 



88 LETTERS 

carved on a fragile shingle ? Some had not even these frail 
memorials. It seemed there was none to care whether 
they lived or died. A wide, deep trench was open ; and 
there I could see piles of unpainted coffins heaped one 
upon the other, left uncovered with earth, till the yawning 
cavity was filled with its hundred tenants. 

Returning homeward, we passed a Catholic burying- 
ground. It belonged to the upper classes, and was filled 
with marble monuments, covered with long inscriptions. 
But none of them touched my heart like that rude shingle, 
with the simple word "Mutter" inscribed thereon. The 
gate was open, and hundreds of Irish, in their best Sunday 
clothes, were stepping reverently among the graves, and 
kissing the very sods. Tenderness for the dead is one of 
the loveliest features of their nation and their church. 

The evening was closing in, as we returned, thoughtful, 
but not gloomy. Bright lights shone through crimson, blue, 
and green, in the apothecaries' windows, and were reflect- 
ed in prismatic beauty from the dirty pools in the street. 
It was like poetic thoughts in the minds of the poor and 
ignorant ; like the memory of pure aspirations in the 
vicious ; like a rainbow of promise, that God's spirit never 
leaves even the most degraded soul. I smiled, as my spirit 
gratefully accepted this love-token from the outward ; and 
I thanked our heavenly Father for a world beyond this. 



LETTER XV. 

March 17, 1842. 

It may seem strange to you that among the mass of be- 
ings in this great human hive, I should occupy an entire 
letter with one whose life was like a troubled and fantas- 
tic dream ; apparently without use to himself or others. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 89 

Yet he was one who has left a record on the public heart, 
and will not be soon forgotlen. For several years past the 
eccentricities of Macdonald Clarke have been the city talk, 
and almost every child in the street was familiar with his 
countenance. In latter years the record of inexpressible 
misery was written there ; but he is said to have had rather 
an unusual portion of beauty in his youth ; and even to the 
last, the heart looked out from his wild eyes with most 
friendly earnestness. I saw him but twice ; and now mourn 
sincerely that the pressure of many avocations prevented 
my seeking to see him oftener. So many forms of unhap- 
piness crowd upon us in this world of perversion and disor- 
der, that it is impossible to answer all demands. But 
stranger as poor Clarke was, it now makes me sad that I 
did not turn out of my way to utter the simple word of 
kindness, which never failed to rejoice his suffering and 
childlike soul. 

I was always deeply touched by the answer of the poor, 
heart-broken page in Hope Leslie : " Yes, lady, I have lost 
my way !" How often do I meet with those who, on the 
crowded pathway of life, have lost their way. With poor 
Clarke it was so from the very outset. Something that was 
not quite insanity, but was nigh akin to it, marked his very 
boyhood. 

He was born in New London, Connecticut, and was 
school-mate with our eloquent friend, Charles C. Burleigh, 
who always speaks of him as the most kind-hearted of boys, 
but even then characterized by the oddest vagaries. His 
mother died at sea, when he was twelve years old ; being 
on a voyage for her health. He says — 

*' One night as the bleak October breeze 
Was sighing a dirge through the leafless trees, 
She was borne by rough men in the chilly dark, 
Down to the wharf-side, where a bark 
Waited for its precious freight. 
I watched the ship-Ughts long and late ; 



90 LETTERS 

When I could see them no more for tears, 

I turned drooping away, 

And felt that mine were darkening years." 

And darkened indeed they were. " That delicate boy," as 
he describes himself, " an only son, having been petted to 
a pitiable unfitness for the sterner purposes of life, went 
forth alone, to struggle with the world's unfriendliness, and 
front its frowns." 

He was in Philadelphia, at one period ; but all we ever 
heard of him there was, that he habitually slept in the 
grave-yard, on Franklin's monument. In 1819, he 
came to New- York, where he wrote for newspapers, 
and struggled as he could with poverty ; assisted from 
time to time by benevolence which he never sought. A 
sad situation for one who, like him, had a nerve protruding 
at every pore. 

In New-York he became in love with a handsome younff 
actress, of seventeen, by the name of Brundage. His pov- 
erty, and obvious incapacity to obtain a livelihood, made the 
match objectionable in the eyes of her mother ; and they 
eloped. The time chosen was as wild and inopportune as 
most of his movements. On the very night she was to play 
Ophelia, on her way to the Park theatre, she absconded 
with her lover, and was married. Of course, the play could 
not go on ; the audience were disappointed, and the mana- 
ger angry. The mother of the young lady, a strong, mas- 
culine woman, was so full of wrath, that she pulled her 
daughter out of bed at midnight, and dragged her home. 
The bridegroom tried to pacify the manager by the most 
polite explanations ; but received nothing but kicks in re- 
turn, with orders never to show his face within the building 
again. The young couple were strongly attached to each 
other, and of course were not long kept separated. But 
Macdonald, who had come of a wealthy family, was too 
proud to have his wife appear on the stage again ; and the 



FROM NEW-YORK. 91 

remarkable powers of his own mind were rendered useless 
by the jar that ran through them all ; of course, poverty- 
came upon them like an armed man. They suffered greatly, 
but still clung to each other with the most fervid affection. 
Sometimes they slept in the deserted market-house ; and 
when the weather would permit, under the shadow of the 
trees. One dreadful stormy night, they were utterly with- 
out shelter, and in the extremity of their need, sought the 
residence of her mother. They knocked and knocked in 
vain ; at last, the suffering young wife proposed climbing a 
shed, in order to enter the window of a chamber she used to 
occupy. To accomplish this purpose, Macdonald placed 
boards across a rain-water hogshead, at the corner of the 
shed. He mounted first, and drew her up after him; when 
suddenly the boards broke, and both fell into the water. 
Their screams brought out the strong-handed and unforgiv- 
ing mother. She seized her offending daughter by the hair, 
and plunged her up and down in the water several times, 
before she would help her out. She finally took her into 
the house, and left Macdonald to escape as he could. They 
were not allowed to live togrether ajrain, and the wife seem- 
ed compelled to return to the stage, as a means of obtaining 
bread. She was young and pretty, her affections were 
blighted, she was poor, and her profession abounded with 
temptations. It was a situation much to be pitied ; for it 
hardly admitted of other result than that which followed. 
They who had loved so fondly, were divorced to meet no 
more. Whenever Macdonald alluded to this part of his 
strange history, as he often did to a very intimate friend, 
he always added, " I never blamed her ; though it almost 
broke my heart. She was driven to it, and I always pitied 
her." 

This lady is now an actress of considerable reputation in 
England ; by the name of Burrows, I think. 

From this period, the wildness of poor Clarke's nature 



92 LETTERS 

increased ; until he came to be generally known by the 
name of the *' Mad Poet." His strange productions bore 
about the same relation to poetry that grotesques^ with 
monkey faces jabbering out of lilly cups, and gnarled trees 
with knot-holes twisted into hag's grimaces, bear to grace- 
ful arabesques, with trailing vines and intertwisted blossoms. 
Yet was the undoubted presence of genius always visible. 
Ever and anon a light from another world shone on his in- 
nocent soul, kindling the holiest aspirations, which could 
find for themselves no form in his bewildered intellect, and 
so fell from his pen in uncouth and jagged fragments, still 
sparkling with the beauty of the region whence they came. 
His metaphors were at times singularly fanciful. He thus 
describes the closing day : — 

*' Now twilight lets her curtain douTi, 
And pins it with a star." 

And in another place, he talks of memory that shall last 

" Whilst the ear of the earth hears the hymn of the ocean.^^ 

M. B. Lamar, late President of Texas, once met this 
eccentric individual at the room of William Page, the dis- 
tinguished artist. The interview led to the following very 
descriptive lines from Lamar : 

Say, have you seen Macdonald Clarke, 

The poet of the Moon ? 
He is a d eccentric lark 

As famous as Zip Coon. 

He talks of Love and dreams of Fame, 
And lauds his ministrel art ; 

He has a kind of zig-zag brain- 
But yet a straight-hne heart. 

Sometimes his strains so sweetly float, 
His harp so sweetly sings, 



FRO xM NEW-YORK. 93 

You'd almost think the tuneful hand 
Of Jubal touched the strings ; 

But soon, anon, with failing art, 

The strain as rudely jars. 
As if a driver tuned the harp, 

In cadence with his cars. 

He was himself well aware that his mind was a broken 
instrument. He described himself as 

*' A poet comfortably crazy — 
As pliant as a weeping-willow — 
Loves most everybody's girls ; an't lazy — 
Can write an hundred lines an hour, 
With a rackety, whackety railroad power." 

From the phrase, " loves most everybody's girls," it must 
not be inferred that he was profligate. On the contrary, he 
was innocent as a child. He talked of love continually ; 
but it was of a mystic union of souls, whispered to him by 
angels, heard imperfectly in the lonely, echoing chambers 
of his soul, and uttered in phrases learned on earth, all 
unfit for the holy sentiment. Like the philosopher of the 
East, he knew, by inward revelation, that his soul 

" In parting from its warm abode, 
Had lost its partner on the road, 
And never joined their hands." 

His whole life was in fact a restless seeking for his other 
half. This idea continually broke from him in plaintive, 
wild, imploring tones. 

" I have met so much of scorn 

From those to whom my thoughts were kind, 
I've fancied there was never born 
On earth, for me, one kindred mind." 

Again he says : 

" The soul that now is cursed and wild. 
In one fierce, wavering, ghastly flare, 



94 LETTERS 

Would be calm and blest as a sleeping child, 
That dreams its mother's breast is there ; 
Calm as the deep midsummer's air — 
Calm as that brow so mild and fair- 
Calm as God's angels everywhere — 
For all is Heaven — if Mary's there," 

This restless idea often centred itself upon some young- 
lady, whom he followed for a long time, with troublesome 
but guileless enthusiasm. The objects of his pursuit were 
sometimes afraid of him ; but there was no occasion for 
this. As a New- York editor very happily said, " He pur- 
sued the little Red Riding Hoods of his imagination to 
bless and not to devour." 

Indeed, in all respects, his nature was most kindly ; in- 
somuch that he suffered continual torture in this great 
Babel of misery and crime. He wanted to relieve all the 
world, and was frenzied that he could not. All that he had 
— money, watch, rings, were given to forlorn street wan- 
derers, with a compassionate, and even deferential gentle- 
ness, that sometimes brought tears to their eyes. Often, 
when he had nothing to give, he would snatch up a ragged, 
shivering child in the street, carry it to the door of some 
princely mansion, and demand to see the lady of the house. 
When she appeared, he would say, " Madam, God has made 
you one of the trustees of his wealth. It is His, not yours. 
Take this poor child, wash it, feed it, clothe it, comfort it — 
in God's name." 

Ladies stared at such abrupt address, and deemed the 
natural action of the heart sullicient proof of madness ; but 
the little ones were seldom sent away uncomforted. 

Clarke was simple and temperate in all his habits ; and 
in his deepest poverty always kept up the neat appearance 
of a gentleman; if his coat was thread-bare, it was never 
soiled. His tendency to reiinement was shown in the 
church he chose to worship in. It was Grace church, the 



FROM NEW-YORK. 95 

plainest, but most highly respectable of the Episcopal 
churches in this city. He was a constant attendant, and 
took comfort in the devotional frame of mind excited 
by the music. He was confirmed at that church but a few 
weeks before his death ; and commemorated the event in 
lines, of which the following are an extract : 

" Calmly circled round the altar, 
The children of the Cross are kneeling. 

Forward, brother — do not falter, 
Fast the tears of sin are stealing ; 

Washing memory bright and clean 
Making futurity serene." 

During the past winter, he raved more than usual. 
The editor of the Aurora says he met him at his simple 
repast of apples and milk, in a public house, on last 
Christmas evening. He was absolutely mad. " You think 
I am Macdonald Clarke," said he ; " but I am not. The 
mad poet dashed out his brains, last Thursday night, at 
the foot of Emmet's monument. The storm that night was 
the tears Heaven wept over him. God animated the body 
again. I am not now Macdonald Clarke, but Afara, an 
archangel of the Almighty." 

'• I Avent to Grace church to-day. Miss sat in the 

seat behind me, and I tossed this velvet bible, with its 
golden clasps, into her lap. What do you think she did ? 
A moment she looked surprised, and then she tossed it 
back again. So they all treat me. All I want is some 
religious people, that love God and love one another, to 
treat me kindly. One sweet smile of Mary' — — — would 
make my mind all light and peace ; and I would write such 
poetry as the world never saw. 

"Something ought to be done for me," said he; "I 
can't take care of myself. I ought to be sent to the asy- 
lum ; or, wouldn't it be better to die ? The moon shines 



&9 LETTERS 

through the willow trees on the graves in St. Paul's church- 
yard, and they look all covered with diamonds — don't you 
think they look like diamonds ? Then there is a lake in 
Greenwood Cemetery ; that would be a good cool place for 
me — I am not afraid to die. The stars of heaven look 
down on that lake, and it reflects their brightness." 

The Mary to whom he alluded, was a wealthy young 
lady of this city; one of those whom his distempered im- 
agination fancied was his lost half Some giddy young 
persons, with thoughtless cruelty, sought to excite him on 
this favourite idea, by every species of joke and trickery. 
They made him believe that the young lady was dying with 
love for him, but restrained by her father ; they sent him 
letters, purporting to be from her hand : and finally led him 
to the house, on pretence of introducing him, and then left 
him on the door-step. The poor fellow returned to the 
Carlton House, in high frenzy. The next night but one, 
he was found in the streets, kneeling before a poor beggar, 
to whom he had just given all his money. The beggar, 
seeing his forlorn condition, wished to return it, and said, 
" Poor fellow, you need it more than I." When the watch- 
man encountered them, Clarke was writing busily on his 
knee, the history of his companion, which he was beseech- 
ing him to tell. The cap was blown from his head, on 
which a pitiless storm was pelting. The watchman could 
make nothing of his incoherent talk, and he was taken to 
the Egyptian Tombs ; a prison where vagabonds and 
criminals await their trial. 

In the morning, he begged that the book-keeper of the 
Carlton House might be sent for ; saying that he was his 
only friend. This gentleman conveyed him to the Lunatic 
Asylum, on Blackwell's Island. Two of my friends, who 
visited him there, fomid him as comfortable as his situation 
allowed. He said he was treated with great kindness, but 
his earnest desire to get out rendered the interview very 



FROM NEW-YORK. 97 

heart-trying. He expressed a wish to recover, that he 
might write hymns and spiritual songs all the rest of his 
life. In some quiet intervals, he complained of the jokes 
that had been practised on him, and said it was not kind ; 
but he was fearfully delirious most of the time — calling 
vociferously for " Water ! Water !" and complaining that 
his brain was all on fire. 

He died a few days after, aged about 44. His friend of 
the Carlton House took upon himself the charge of his 
funeral ; and it is satisfactory to think that it was all 
ordered, just as the kind and simple-hearted being would 
have himself desired. The body was conveyed to Grace 
church, and the funeral service performed in the presence 
of a few who had loved him. Among these was Fitz- 
Greene Halleck, who it is said often befriended him in the 
course of his suffering life. Many children were present; 
and one, with tearful eyes, brought a beautiful little bunch 
of flowers, which a friend laid upon his bosom with reverent 
tenderness. He was buried at Greenwood Cemetery, under 
the shadow of a pine tree, next to the grave of a little child 
— a fitting resting place for the loving and childlike poet. 

He had often expressed a wish to be buried at Green- 
wood. Walking there with a friend of mine, they selected 
a spot for his grave ; and he seemed pleased as a boy, 
when told of the arrangements that should be made at his 
funeral. " I hope the children will come," said he, " I 
want to be buried by the side of children. Four things I 
am sure there will be in heaven ; music, plenty of little 
children, flowers, and pure air." 

They are now getting up a subscription for a marble 
monument. It seems out of keeping with his character 
and destiny. It were better to plant a rose-bush by his 
grave, and mark his name on a simple white cross, that 
the few who loved him might know where the gentle, sor- 
rowing wanderer sleeps. 



98 LETTERS 



LETTER XVI. 

August 7, 1842. 

Were you ever near enough to a great fire to be in im- 
mediate danger ! If you were not, you have missed one 
form of keen excitement, and awful beauty. Last week, we 
had here one of the most disastrous conflagrations that have 
occurred for a long time. It caught, as is supposed, by a 
spark from a furnace falling on the roof of a wheelwright's 
shop. A single bucket of water, thrown on immediately, 
would have extinguished it ; but it was not instantly perceiv- 
ed, roofs were dry, and the wind was blowing a perfect 
March gale. Like slavery in our government, it was not put 
out in the day of small beginnings, and so went on increas- 
inof in its rage, making a great deal of hot and disagreeable 
work. 

It began at the corner of Chrystie-street, not far from 
our dwelling ; and the blazing shingles that came flying 
through the air, like a storm in the infernal regions, soon 
kindled our roof. We thought to avert the danger by 
buckets of water, until the block opposite us was one sheet 
of fire, and the heat like that of the furnace which tried 
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Then we began to 
pack our goods, and run with them in all haste to places of 
safety ; an effort more easily described than done — for the 
streets all round were filled with a dense mass of living 
beings, each eager in playing the engines, or saving the 
lares of his own hearth-stone. 

Nothing surprised me so much as the rapidity of the 
work of destruction. At three o'clock in the afternoon, there 
stood before us a close neighbourhood of houses, inhabited 
by those whose faces were familiar, though their names 



FROM NEW-YORK. 99 

were mostly unknown ; at five the whole was a pile of 
smoking ruins. The humble tenement of Jane Plato, the 
coloured woman, of whose neatly-kept garden and white- 
washed fences I wrote you last summer, has passed away 
for ever. The purple iris, and yellow daffodils, and varie. 
gated sweet-williams, were all trampled down under heaps 
of red-hot mortar. I feel a deeper sympathy for the de- 
struction of Jane's little garden, than I do for those who 
have lost whole blocks of houses ; for I have known and 
loved flowers, like the voice of a friend — but with houses 
and lands I was nerer cumbered. In truth, I am ashamed 
to say how much I grieve for that little flowery oasis in a 
desert of bricks and stone. My beautiful trees, too — the 
Ailanthus, whose graceful blossoms, changing their hue 
from month to month, blessed me the live-long summer; 
and the glossy young Catalpa, over which it threw its arms 
so lovingly and free — there they stand, scorched and black- 
ened ; and I know not whether nature, with her mighty 
healing power, can ever make them live again. 

The utilitarian and the moralist will rebuke this trifling 
record, and remind me that one hundred houses were burn- 
ed, and not less than two thousand persons deprived of 
shelter for the night. Pardon my childish lamentations. 
Most gladly would I give a home to all the destitute ; but I 
cannot love two thousand persons ; and I loved my trees. 
Insurance stocks are to me an abstraction ; but stock gilli- 
flowers a most pleasant reality. 

Will your kind heart be shocked that I seem to sympa- 
thize more with Jane Plato for the destruction of her little 
garden- patch, than I do with others for loss of houses and 
furniture ? 

Do not misunderstand me. It is simply my way of say- 
ing that money is not wealth. I know the universal opinion 
of mankind is to the contrary ; but it is nevertheless a mis- 
take. Our real losses are those in which the heart is con- 



100 LETTERS 

cerned. An autograph letter from Napoleon Bonaparte 
might sell for fifty dollars ; but if I possessed such a rare docu- 
ment, would I save it from the fire, in preference to a letter 
from a beloved and deceased husband, filled with dear little 
household phrases ? Which would a mother value most, 
the price of the most elegant pair of Parisian slippers, or a 
little worn-out shoe, once filled with a precious infant foot, 
now walking with the angels ? 

Jane Plato's garden might not be worth much in dollars 
and cents ; but it was to her the endeared companion of 
many a pleasant hour. After her daily toil, she might be 
seen, till twilight deepened into evening, digging round the 
roots, pruning branches, and training vines. I know by ex- 
perience how very dear inanimate objects become under such 
circumstances. I have dearly loved the house in which I 
lived, but I could not love the one I merely owned. The 
one in which the purse had interest might be ten times more 
valuable in the market ; but let me calculate as I would, I 
should mourn most for the one in which the heart had invest- 
ed stock. The common wild-flower that 1 have brought to 
my garden, and nursed, and petted, till it has lost all home- 
sickness for its native woods, is really more valuable than 
the costly exotic, purchased in full bloom from the conserv- 
atory. Men of princely fortunes never known what wealth 
of happiness there is in a garden. 

" The rich man in his garden walks, 
Beneath his garden trees ; 
Wrapped in a dream of other things. 
He seems to take his ease. 

One moment he beholds his flowers, 

The next they are forgot ; 
He eateth of his rarest fruits, 

As though he ate them not. 

It is not with the poor man so ; 
He knows each mch of ground, 



FROM NEW. YORK. 101 

And every single plant and flower, 
That grows within its bound. 

And though his garden-plot is small, 

Him doth it satisfy ; 
For there's no inch of all his ground, 

That does not fill his eye. 

It is not with the rich man thus ; 

For though his grounds are wide, 
He looks beyond, and yet beyond. 

With soul unsatisfied. 

Yes, in the poor man's garden grow 

Far more than herbs and flowers ; 
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind. 

And joy for weary hours." 

The reason of this difference is easily explained : 

** The rich man has his gardeners— 
His gardeners young and old ; 
He never takes a spade in hand, 
Nor worketh in the mould. 

It is not with the poor man so — 
Wealth, servants, he has none ; 
And all the work that's done for him, 
Must by himself be done." 

I have said this much to prove that money is not wealth, 
and that God^s gifts are equal ; though joint-stock companies 
and corporations do their worst to prevent it. 

And all the highest truths, as well as the genuine good^ 
are universal. Doctrinal dogmas may be hammered out on 
theological anvils, and appropriated to spiritual corporations, 
called sects. But those high and holy truths, which make 
the soul at one with God and the neighbour, are by their 
very nature universal — open to all who wish to receive. 
Outward forms are always in harmonious correspondence 
with inward realities ; therefore the material types of high- 
est truths defy man's efforts to monopolize. Who can bottle 



102 LETTERS 

up the sunlight, to sell at retail ? or issue dividends of the 
ocean and the breeze ? 

This great fire, like all calamities, public or private, has 
its bright side. A portion of New-York, and that not a 
small one, is for once thoroughly cleaned ; a wide space is 
opened for our vision, and the free passage of the air. 
True, it looks desolate enough now ; like a battle-field, when 
waving banners and rushing steeds, and fife and trumpet 
all are gone ; and the dead alone remain. But the dreary 
sight ever brings up images of those hundred volcanoes spout- 
ing flame, and of the scene at midnight, so fearful in its 
beauty. Where houses so lately stood, and welcome feet 
passed over the threshhold, and friendly voices cheered the 
fireside, there arose the lurid gleam of mouldering fires, with 
rolling masses of smoke, as if watched by giants from the 
nether world ; and between them all lay the thick darkness. 
It was strikingly like Martin's pictures. The resemblance 
renewed my old impression, that if the arts are cultivated 
in the infernal regions, of such are their galleries formed ; 
not without a startling beauty, which impresses, while it 
disturbs the mind, because it embodies the idea of Power, 
and its discords bear harmonious relation to each other. 

If you wanted to see the real, unqualified beauty of fire, 
you should have stood with me, in the darkness of evening, 
to gaze at a burning house nearly opposite. Four long 
hours it sent forth flame in every variety. Now it poured 
forth from the windows, like a broad banner on the wind ; 
then it wound round the door-posts like a brilliant wreath ; 
and from the open roof there ever went up a fountain of 
sparks, that fell like a shower of gems. I watched it for 
hours, and could not turn away from it. In my mind there 
insensibly grew up a respect for that house ; because it de- 
fied the power of the elements, so bravely and so long. It 
must have been built of sound timber, well jointed ; and as 
the houses round it had fallen, its confiafi^ration was not 



FROM NEW-YORK. 103 

hastened by excessive heat, as the others had been. It was 
one o'clock at night when the last tongue of flame flickered 
and died reluctantly. The next day, men came by order 
of the city authorities, to pull down the walls. This, too, 
the brave building resisted to the utmost. Ropes were 
fastened to it with grappling irons, and a hundred men tug- 
ged, and tugged at it, in vain. My respect for it increased, 
till it seemed to me like an heroic friend. I could not bear 
that it should fall. It seemed to me, if it did, I should no 
longer feel sure that J. Q. Adams and Giddings would stand 
on their feet against Southern aggression. I sent up a joy- 
ous shout when the irons came out, bringing away only 
a few bricks, and the men fell backward from the force of 
the shock. But at last the walls reeled, and came down 
with a thundering crash. Nevertheless, I will trust Adams 
and Giddings, tug at them as they may. 

By the blessing of heaven on the energy and presence of 
mind of those who came to our help, our walls stand un- 
scathed, and nothing was destroyed in the tumult ; but our 
hearts are aching ; for all round us comes a voice of wail- 
ing from the houseless and the impoverished. 



LETTER XVII. t 

April 14, lf?42. 

In looking over some of my letters, my spirit stands re- 
proved for its sadness. In this working-day world, where 
the bravest have need of all their buoyancy and strength, it 
is sinful to add our sorrows to the common load. Blessed 
are the missionaries of cheerfulness ! 

" Tis glorious to have one's own proud will, 
And see the crown acknowledged, that we earn ; 



104 LETTERS 

But nobler yet, and nearer to the skies, 
To feel one's self, in hours serene and still, 
One of the spirits chosen by Heaven to turn 
The sunny side of things to human eyes." 

The fault was in my own spirit rather than in the streets 
of New-York. " Who has no inward beauty, none per- 
ceives, though all around is beautiful." Had my soul been 
at one with Nature and with God, I should not have seen 
only misery and vice in my city rambles. To-day, I have 
been so happy in Broadway ! A multitude of doves went 
careering before me. Now wheeling in graceful circles, 
their white wings and breasts glittering in the sunshine j 
now descending within the shadow of the houses, like a 
cloud ; now soaring high up in the sky, till they seemed 
immense flocks of dusky butterflies ; and ever as I walked 
they went before me, with most loving companionship. 
If they had anything to say to me, I surely understood 
their language, though I heard it not ; for through my 
whole frame there went a feathery buoyancy, a joyous up- 
rising from the earth, as if I too had wings, with con- 
scious power to use them. Then they brought such sweet 
images to my mind ! I remembered the story of the pirate 
hardened in blood and crime, who listened to the notes of 
a turtle-dove in the stillness of evening. Perhans he had 
never before heard the soothing tones of love. They spoke 
to his inmost soul, like the voice of an angel ; and waken- 
ed such response there, that he thenceforth became a holy 
man. Then I thought how I would like to have this the 
mission of my spirit ; to speak to hardened and suffering 
hearts, in the tones of a turtle-dove. 

My flying companions brought before me another picture 
which has had a place in the halls of memory for several 
years. I was once visiting a friend in prison for debt ; 
and through the grated window, I could see the outside of 
the criminals' apartments. On the stone ledges, beneath 



FROM NEW-YORK. 105 

their windows, alighted three or four doves ; and hard 
hands were thrust out between the iron bars, to sprinkle 
crumbs for them. The sight brought tears to my eyes. 
Hearts that still loved to feed doves certainly must contain 
somewhat that might be reached by the voice of kindness. 
I had not then reasoned on the subject ; but I felt, even 
then, that prisons were not such spiritual hospitals as ought 
to be provided for erring brothers. The birds themselves 
were not of snowy plumage ; their little, rose-coloured feet 
were spattered with mud, and their feathers were soiled, 
as if they, too, were jail birds. The outward influences of 
a city had passed over them, as the inward had over those who 
fed them ; nevertheless, they are doves, said I, and have 
all a dove's instincts. It was a significant lesson, and I 
laid it to my heart. 

But tliese Broadway doves, ever wheeling before me in 
graceful eddies, why did their aerial frolic produce such 
joyous elasticity in my physical frame ? Was it sympathy 
with nature, so intimate that her motions became my own? 
Or was it a revealing that the spiritual body had wings, 
wherewith I should hereafter fly ? 

The pleasant, buoyant sensation recalled to my mind a 
dream which I read, many years ago, in Doddridge's Life 
and Correspondence. I will not vouch for it, that my copy 
is a likeness of the original. If anything is added, I know 
not where I obtained it, unless Doddridge himself has since 
told me. I surely have no intention to add of my own. I 
do not profess to give anything like the language ; for the 
words have passed from my memory utterly. As I re- 
member the dream, it was thus : 

Dr. Doddridge had been spending the evening with his 
friend, Dr. Watts. Their conversation had been concern- 
ing the future existence of the soul. Long and earnestly 
they pursued the theme ; and both came to the conclusion, 
(rather a remarkable one for theologians of that day to ar- 
5* 



106 LETTERS 

rive at) that it could not be they were to sing through all 
eternity ; that each soul must necessarily be an individual, 
and have its appropriate employment for thought and aflec- 
tion. As Doddridge walked home, his mind brooded over 
these ideas, and took little cognizance of outward matters. 
In this state he laid his head upon the pillow and fell asleep. 
He dreamed that he was dying ; he saw his weeping friends 
round his bedside, and wanted to speak to them, but could 
not. Presently there came a nightmare sensation. His 
soul was about to leave the body ; but how would it get 
out? More and more anxiously rose the query, how could 
it get out ? This uneasy state passed away ; and he found 
that the soul had left his body. He himself stood beside the 
bed, looking at his own corpse, as if it were an old garment, 
laid aside as useless. His friends wept round the mortal 
covering, but could not see him. 

While he was reflecting upon this, he passed out of the 
room, he knew not how; but presently he found himself 
floating over London, as if pillowed on a cloud borne by 
gentle breezes. Far below him, the busy multitude were 
hurrying hither and thither, like rats and mice scampering 
for crumbs. " Ah," thought the emancipated spirit, " how 
worse than foolish appears this feverish scramble. For 
what do they toil ? and what do they obtain ?" 

London passed away beneath him, and he found himself 
floating over green fields and blooming gardens. How is 
it that I am borne through the air? thought he. He look- 
ed, and saw a large purple wing ; and then he knew that 
he was carried by an angel. ""Whither are we going?" 
said he. "To Heaven," was the reply. He asked no 
more questions ; but remained in delicious quietude, as if 
they floated on a strain of music. At length they paused 
before a white marble temple, of exquisite beauty. The 
angel lowered his flight, and gently placed him on the steps. 
** I thought you were taking me to Heaven," said the spirit. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 107 

" This is Heaven," replied the angel. " This ! Assuredly 
this temple is of rare beauty ; but I could imagine just such 
built on earth." " Nevertheless, it is Heaven," replied the 
angel. 

They entered a room just within the temple. A table 
stood in the centre, on which was a golden vase, filled with 
sparkling wine. "Drink of this," said the angel, offering 
the vase ; " for all who would know spiritual things, must 
first drink of spiritual wine." Scarcely had the ruby liquid 
wet his lips, when the Saviour of men stood before him, 
smiling most benignly. The spirit instantly dropped on 
his knees, and bowed down his head before Him. The 
holy hands of the Purest were folded over him in blessing; 
and his voice said, " You will see me seldom now ; here- 
after, you will see me more frequently. In the meantime, 
observe well the wonders of this temple T' 

The sounds ceased. The spirit remained awhile in 
stillness. When he raised his head, the Saviour no longer 
appeared. He turned to ask the angel what this could 
mean ; but the angel had departed also. The soul stood 
alone, in its own unveiled presence ! " Why did the Holy 
One tell me to observe well the wonders of this temple ?" 
thought he. He looked slowly round. A sudden start of 
joy and wonder ! There, painied on the walls, in most mar- 
vellous beauty, stood recorded the whole of his spiritual Ife ! 
Every doubt, and every clear perception, every conflict and 
every victory, were there before him ! and though forgotten 
for years, he knew them at a glance. Even thus had a 
sunbeam pierced the darkest cloud, and thrown a rainbow 
bridge from the finite to the infinite ; thus had he slept 
peacefully in green valleys, by the side of running brooks ; 
and such had been his visions from the mountain tops. He 
knew them all. They had been always painted within the 
chambers of his soul; but now, for the first time, was the 
veil removed. 



108 LETTERS 

To those -vvho ihmk on spiritual things, this remarkable 
dream is too deeply and beautifully significant ever to be 
forgotten. 

*' We shape ourselves the joy or fear 

Of which the coming Hfe is made, 
And fill our Future's atmosphere 

With sunshine or with shade. 

Still shall the soul around it call 

The shadows which it gathered here, 

And painted on the eternal wall 
The Past shall reappear." 

I do not mean that the paintings^ and statues^ and "houses, 
which a man has made on earth, will form his environment 
in the world of souls ; this would monopolize Heaven for 
the wealthy and the cultivated. I mean that the spiritual 
combats and victories of our pilgrimage, write themselves 
there above, in infinite variations of form, colour, and tone ; 
and thus shall every word and thought be brought unto judg- 
ment. Of these things inscribed in Heaven, who can tell 
what may be the action upon souls newly born into time ? 
Perhaps all lovely forms of Art are mere ultimates of spirit- 
ual victories in individual souls. It may be that all genius 
derives its life from some holiness, which preceded it, in 
the attainment of another spirit. "Who shall venture to 
assert that Beethoven could have produced his strangely 
powerful music, had not souls gone before him on earth, 
who with infinite struggling against temptation, aspired to- 
ward the Highest, and in some degree realized their aspi- 
ration ? The music thus brought from the eternal world 
kindles still higher spiritual aspirations in mortals, to be 
realized in this life, and again written above, to inspire 
anew some gifted spirit, who stands a ready recipient 
in the far-off time. Upon this ladder, how beautifully the 
angels are seen ascending and descending ! 



FROM NEW-YORK. 109 



LETTER XVIII. 

' May 26, 1842. 

The Battery is growing charming again, now that Nature 
has laid aside her pearls, and put on her emeralds. The 
worst of it is, crowds are flocking there morning and even- 
ing ; yet I am ashamed of that anti-social sentiment. It 
does my heart good to see the throng of children trundling 
their hoops and rolling on the grass ; some, with tattered 
garments and dirty hands, come up from narrow lanes and 
stifled courts, and others with pale faces and weak limbs, 
the sickly occupants of heated drawing-rooms. But while 
I rejoice for their sakes, I cannot overcome my aversion to 
a multitude. It is so pleasant to run and jump, and throw 
pebbles, and make up faces at a friend, without having a 
platoon of well-dressed people turn round and stare, and 
ask, "Who is that strange woman, ihat acts so like a child?" 
Those who are truly enamoured of Nature, love to be alone 
with her. It is with them as with other lovers ; the intru- 
sion of strangers puts to flight a thousand sweet fancies, as 
fairies are said to scamper at the approach of a mortal 
footstep. 

I rarely see the Battery, without thinking how beautiful 
it must have been before the white man looked upon it ; 
when the tall, solemn forest came down to the water's edge, 
and bathed in the moonlight stillness. The solitary Indian 
came out from the dense shadows, and stood in the glorious 
brightness. As he leaned thoughtfully on his bow, his 
crest of eagles' feathers waved slowly in the gentle evening 
breeze ; and voices from the world of spirits spoke into his 
heart, and stirred it with a troubled reverence, which he 
felt, but could not comprehend. To us, likewise, they are 
ever speaking through many-voiced Nature ; the soul, in 



110 LETTERS 

its quiet hour, listens intently to the friendly entreaty, and 
strives to guess its meaning. All round us, on hill and dale, 
the surging ocean and the evening cloud, they have spread 
open the illuminated copy of their scriptures — revealing all 
things, if we could but learn the language ! 

The Indian did not think this ; but he felt it, even as I 
do. What have we gained by civilization? It is a circling 
question, the beginning and end of which everywhere touch 
each other. One thing is certain; they who pass through 
the ordeal of high civilization, with garments unspotted by 
the crowd, will make far higher and holier angels ; will love 
more, and know more, than they who went to their Father's 
house through the lonely forest-path. But looking at it 
only in relation to this earth, there is much to be said in 
favour of that wild life of savage freedom, as well as much 
against it. It would be so pleasant to get rid of that night- 
mare of civilized life — " What will Mrs. Smith say ]" and 
" Do you suppose folks will think strange ?" It is true that 
phantom troubles me but little ; having snapped my fingers 
in its face years ago, it mainly vexes me by keeping me 
for ever from a full insight into the souls of others. 

Should I have learned more of the spirit's life, could I 
have wandered at midnight with Pocahontas, on this fair 
island of Manhattan ? I should have, at least, learned all ; 
the soul of Nature's child might have lisped, and stammer- 
ed in broken sentences, but it would not have muttered 
through a mask. 

The very name of this island brings me back to civiliza- 
tion, by a most unpleasant path. It was in the autumn of 
1609 that the celebrated Hudson first entered the magnifi:- 
cent river that now bears his name, in his adventurous 
yacht, The Half Moon. The simple Indians were attract- 
ed by the red garments and bright buttons of the strangers ; 
and as usual, their new friendship was soon sealed with the 
accursed " fire-water." On the island where the city now 



FROM NEW. YORK. Ill 

stands, they had a great carouse ; and the Indians, in com- 
memoration thereof, named it Manahachtanienks, abbre- 
viated, by rapid speech, to Manhattan. The meaning of it 
is, " The Place where all got Drunk Together y As I walk 
through the crowded streets, I am sometimes inclined to 
think the name is by no means misapplied at the present day. 

New-York is beautiful now, with its broad rivers glancing 
in the sunbeams, its numerous islands, like fairy homes, and 
verdant headlands jutting out in graceful curves into its 
spacious harbour, where float the vessels of a hundred na- 
tions. But oh, how beautiful it must have been, when the 
thick forest hung all round Hudson's lonely bark ! When 
the wild deer bounded through paths where swine now 
grunt and grovel ! That chapter of the world's history was 
left unrecorded here below ; but historians above have it 
on their tablets ; for it wrote itself there in daguerreotype. 

Of times far less ancient, the vestiges are passing away; 
recalled sometimes by names bringing the most contradic- 
tory associations. Maiden-lane is now one of the busiest 
of commercial streets ; the sky shut out with bricks and 
mortar ; gutters on either side, black as the ancients imagin- 
ed the rivers of hell ; thronged with sailors and draymen ; 
and redolent of all wharf-like smells. Its name, significant 
of innocence and youthful beauty, was given in the olden 
time, when a clear, sparkling rivulet here flowed from an 
abundant spring, and the young Dutch girls went and came 
with baskets on their heads, to wash and bleach linen in 
the flowing stream, and on the verdant grass. 

Greenwich-street, which now rears its huge masses of 
brick, and shows only a long vista of dirt and paving-stones, 
was once a beautiful beach, where boys and horses went 
in to bathe. In the middle of what is now the street, was 
a large rock, on which was built a rude summer-house, 
from which the merry bathers loved to jump, with splash 
and ringing shouts of laughter. 



112 LETTERS 

I know not from what Pearl-street derives its name ; but, 
in more senses than one, it is now obviously a *' pearl cast 
before swine." 

The Bowery, with name so flowery, where the discord 
of a thousand wheels is overtopped by shrill street-cries, 
was a line of orchards and mowing-land, in rear of the olden 
city, called in Dutch, the Bouwerys, or Farms; and in 
popular phrase, *' The High Road to Boston." In 1631, 
old Governor Stuyvesant bought the " Bouwerys," (now so 
immensely valuable, in the market sense,) for 6,400 guilders, 
or £1,066 ; houses, barn, six cows, two horses, and two 
young negro slaves, were included with the land. He built 
a Reformed Dutch church at his own expense, on his farm, 
within the walls of which was the family vault. The 
church of St. Mark now occupies the same site, and on the 
outside wall stands his original grave stone, thus inscribed : 

" In this vault lies buried Petrus Stuyvesant, late Captain- 
General and Commander-in-Chief of Amsterdam in New- 
Netherland, now called New-York, and the Dulch West 
India Islands. Died August, A. D. 1682, aged SO years." 

A pear tree stands without the wall, still vigorous, though 
brought from Holland and planted there by the governor 
himself. His family, still among the wealthiest of our city 
aristocracy, have preserved some curious memorials of their 
venerable Dutch ancestor. A portrait in armour, well ex- 
ecuted in Holland, probably while he was admiral there, 
represents him as a dark complexioned man, with strong, 
bold features, and mustaches on the upper lip. They 
likewise preserve the shirt in which he was christened ; of 
the finest Holland linen, edged with narrow lace. 

Near the Battery is an inclosure, called the Bowling 
Green, where once stood a leaden statue of George II.; 
an appropriate metal for the heavy house of Hanover. 
During the revolution, the poor king was pulled down and 
dragged irreverently through the streets, to be melted into 



FROM NEW-YORK. 113 

bullets for the war. He would have deemed this worse 
than being 

" Turned to clay, 
To stop a hole to keep the wind away." 

However, the purpose to which his image was applied, 
would probably have been less abhorent to him, than it 
would be to the apostles to know the uses to which they are 
applied by modern Christians. 

The antiquities of New-York ! In this new and ever- 
changing country, what ridiculous associations are aroused 
by that word ! For us, tradition has no desolate arches, 
no dim and cloistered aisles. People change their abodes 
so often, that, as Washington Irving wittily suggests, the 
very ghosts, if they are disposed to keep up an ancient cus- 
tom, don't know where to call upon them. 

This newness, combined with all surrounding social in- 
fluences, tends to make us an irreverential people. It was 
the frequent remark of Mr. Combe, that of all nations, 
whose heads he had ever had an opportunity to observe, 
the Americans had the organ of veneration the least de- 
veloped. No wonder that it is so. Instead of moss-grown 
ruins, we have trim brick houses ; instead of cathedrals, 
with their •' dim, religious light," we have new meeting- 
houses, built on speculation, with four-and-twenty windows 
on each side, and at both ends, for the full enjoyment of 
cross-lights ; instead of the dark and echoing recesses of 
the cloister, we have ready-made coffins in the shop-win- 
dows ; instead of the rainbow halo of poetic philosophy, 
we have Franklin's maxims for " Poor Richard ;" and in 
lieu of kings divinely ordained, or governments heaven-de- 
scended, we have administrations turned in and out of office 
at every whirl of the ballot-box. 

" This democratic experiment will prove a failure," said 
an old-fashioned federalist ; " before fifty years are ended, 



114 LETTERS 

we shall be governed by a king in this country." " And 
where will you get the blood ?" inquired an Irishman, with 
earnest simplicity ; " sure you will have to send over the 
water to get some of the blood." Whereupon, irreverent 
listeners laughed outright, and asked wherein a king's blood 
differed from that of an Irish ditch-digger. The poor fellow 
was puzzled. Could he have comprehended the question, 
I would have asked, " And if we could import the kingly 
blood, how could we import the sentiment of loyalty ?" 

The social world, as well as the world of matter, must 
have its centrifugal as well as centripetal force ; and we 
Americans must perform that office ; an honourable and 
useful one it is, yet not the most beautiful, nor in all re- 
spects the most desirable. Reverence is the highest quali- 
ty of man's nature ; and that individual, or nation, which 
has it slightly developed, is so far unfortunate. It is a 
strong spiritual instinct, and seeks to form channels for 
itself where none exists ; thus Americans, in the dearth of 
other objects to worship, fall to worshipping themselves. 

Now don't laugh, if you can help it, at what I bring forth 
as antiquities. Just keep the Parthenon, the Alhambra, and 
the ruins of Melrose out of your head, if you please ; and 
pay due respect to my American antiquities. At the corner 
of Bayard and Bowery, you will see a hotel, called the 
North American ; and on the top thereof you may spy a 
wooden image of a lad with ragged knees and elbow^s, 
whose mother doesn't know they're out. That image com- 
memorates the history of a Yankee boy, by the name of 
David Reynolds. Some fifty years ago, he came here at 
the age of twelve or fourteen, without a copper in his pock- 
et. I think he had run away ; at all events, he was alone 
and friendless. Weary and hungry, he leaned against a 
tree, where the hotel now stands ; every eye looked strange 
upon him, and he felt utterly forlorn and disheartened. 
While he was trying to devise some honest means to obtain 



FROM NEW-YORK. 115 

food, a gentleman inquired for a boy to carry his trunk to 
the wharf; and the Yankee eagerly offered his services. 
For this job he received twenty-five cents; most of which 
he spent in purchasing fruit to sell again. He stationed 
himself by the friendly tree, where he had first obtained 
employment, and soon disposed of his little stock to advan- 
tage. With increased capital he increased his stock. He 
must have managed his business with Yankee shrewdness, 
or perhaps he was a cross of Scotch and Yankee ; for he 
soon established a respectable fruit stall under the tree ; and 
then he bought a small shop, that stood wdthin its shade ; 
and then he purchased a lot of land, including several build- 
ings round ; and finally he pulled down the old shop, and 
the old houses, and built the large hotel which now stands 
there. The old tree seemed to him like home. There he 
had met with his first good luck in a strange city ; and from 
day to day, and month to month, those friendly boughs had 
still looked down upon his rising fortune. He would not 
desert that which had stood by him in the dreary days of 
poverty and trial. It must be removed, to make room for 
the big mansion : but it should not be destroyed. From its 
beloved trunk he caused his image to be carved, as a me- 
mento of his own forlorn beginnings, and his grateful re- 
collections. That it might tell a truthful tale, and remind 
him of early struggles, the rich citizen of New-York caused 
it to be carved, with ragged trowsers, and jacket out at el- 
bows. 

There is a curious relic of bygone days over the door of 
a public house in Hudson street, between Hamersley street 
and Greenwich Bank, of which few guess the origin. It 
is the sign of a fish, with a ring in its mouth. Tradition 
says, that in the year 1743, a young nobleman, disguised 
as a sailor, won the heart of a beautiful village maiden, on 
the western coast of England. It is the old story of wo- 
man's fondness, and woman's faith. She trusted him, and 



116 LETTERS 

he deceived her. At their parting, they exchanged rings 
of betrothal. Time passed on, and she heard no more from 
him ; till at last there came the insulting offer of money, as 
a remuneration for her ruined happiness, and support for 
herself and child. Some time after, she learned, to her 
great surprise, that he was a nobleman of high rank, in the 
royal navy, and that his ship was lying near the coast. 
She sought his vessel, and conjured him by all recollec- 
tions of her confiding love, and of his own earnest protes- 
tations, to do her justice. At first, he was moved ; but her 
pertinacity vexed him, until he treated her with angry scorn, 
for presuming to think she could ever become his wife. 
"God forgive you," said tk#t weeping beauty; "let us 
exchange our rings again ; give me back the one I gave 
you. It was my mother's ; and I could not have parted 
with it to any but my betrothed husband. There is your 
money ; not a penny of it will I ever use ; it cannot restore 
my good name, or heal my broken heart. I will labour to 
support your child." In a sudden fit of anger, he threw 
the ring into the sea, saying, " When you can recover that 
bauble from the fishes, you may expect to be the wife of a 
British nobleman. I give you my word of honour to marry 
you then, and not till then." 

Sadly and wearily the maiden walked home with her 
poor old father. On their way, the old man bought a fish 
that was offered him, just taken from the sea. When the 
fish was prepared for supper that night, lo ! the ring was 
found in its stomach ! 

When informed of this fact, the young nobleman was so 
strongly impressed with the idea that it was a direct inter- 
position of Providence, that he did not venture to break the 
promise he had given. He married the village belle, and 
they* lived long and happily together. When he died, an 
obelisk was erected to his memory, surmounted by the effi- 
gy of a fish with a ring in its mouth. Such a story was of 



FROM NEW. YORK. 117 

course sung and told by wandering beggars and travelling 
merchants, until it became universal tradition. Some old 
emigrant brought it over to this country ; and there in Hud- 
son street hang the Fish and the Ring, to commemorate the 
loves of a past century. 

Now laugh if you will ; I think I have made out quite 
a respectable collection of American antiquities. If I seem 
to you at times to look back too lovingly on the Past, do 
not understand me as quarrelling with the Present. Some- 
times, it is true, I am tempted to say of the Nineteenth 
Century, as the exile from New Zealand did of the huge 
scramble in London streets, " Me no like London. Shove 
me about." 

Often, too, I am disgusted to see men trying to pull down 
the false, not for love of the true, but for their own selfish 
purposes. But notwithstanding these drawbacks, I grate- 
fully acknowledge my own age and country as pre-eminent- 
ly marked by activity and progress. Brave spirits are eve- 
ryvvhere at work for freedom, peace, temperance, and edu- 
cation. Everywhere the walls of caste and sect are melt- 
ing before them ; everywhere dawns the golden twilight of 
universal love ! Many are working for all these things, 
who have the dimmest insight into the infinity of their rela- 
tions, and the eternity of their results ; some, perchance, 
could they perceive the relation that each bears to all, would 
eagerly strive to undo what they are now doing ; but lucki- 
ly, heart and hand often work for better things than the head 
wots of. 



118 LETTERS 



LETTER XIX. 

■June 2, 1842. 

You seem very curious to learn what I think of recent 
phenomena in animal magnetism, or mesmerism, which 
you have described to me. They have probably impressed 
your mind more than my own ; because I was ten years 
ago convinced that animal magnetism was destined to pro- 
duce great changes in the science of medicine, and in the 
whole philosophy of spirit and matter. The reports of 
French physicians, guarded as they were on every side by 
the scepticism that characterizes their profession and their 
country, contained amply enough to convince me that ani- 
mal magnetism was not a nine-days' wonder. That there 
has been a great deal of trickery, collusion and imposture, 
in connection with this subject, is obvious enough. Its very 
nature renders it peculiarly liable to this ; whatsoever re- 
lates to spiritual existence cannot be explained by the laws 
of matter, and therefore becomes at once a powerful 
temptation to deception. For this reason, I have taken 
too little interest in public exhibitions of animal magnetism 
ever to attend one ; I should always observe them with 
distrust. 

But it appears to me that nothing can be more unphilo- 
sophic than the ridicule attached to a belief in mesmerism. 
Phenomena of the most extraordinary character have oc- 
curred, proved by a cloud of witnesses. If these things 
have really happened, (as thousands of intelligent and ra- 
tional people testify,) they are governed by laws as fixed 
and certain as the laws that govern matter. We call them 
miracles, simply because we do not understand the causes 
that produce them ; and what do we fully understand 1 



FROM NEW-YORK. 119 

Our knowledge is exceedingly imperfect, even with regard 
to the laws of matter ; though the world has had the ex- 
perience of several thousand years to help its investiga- 
tions. We cannot see that the majestic oak lies folded up 
in the acorn ; still less can we tell how it came there. We 
have observed that a piece of wood decays in the damp 
ground, while a nut generates and becomes a tree ; and we 
say it is because there is a principle of vitality in the nut, 
which is not in the wood ; but explain, if you can, what is 
a principle of vitality ? and how come it in the acorn ? 

They, who reject the supernatural, claim to be the only 
philosophers, in these days, when, as Peter Parley says, 
** every little child knows all about the rainbow." Satis- 
fied with the tangible inclosures of their own penfold, these 
are not aware that whosoever did know all about the rain- 
bow, would know enough to make a world. >S'wj>ernatural 
simply means above the natural. Between the laws that 
govern the higher and the lower, there is doubtless the 
most perfect harmony ; and this we should perceive and 
understand, if we had the enlarged faculties of angels. 

There is something exceedingly arrogant and short- 
sighted in the pretensions of those who ridicule everything 
not capable of being proved to the senses. They are like 
a man who holds a penny close to his eye, and then denies 
that there is a glorious firmament of stars, because he can- 
not see them. Carlyle gives the following sharp rebuke to 
this annoying class of thinkers : — "Thou wilt have no mys- 
tery and mysticism ? Wilt walk through the world by the 
sunshine of what thou callest logic ? Thou wilt explain 
all, account for all, or believe nothing of it ? Nay, thou 
wilt even attempt laughter ?" 

" Whoso recognises the unfathomable, all-pervading do- 
main of mystery, which is everywhere under our feet and 
among our hands ; to whom the universe is an oracle and a 
temple, as well as kitchen and caftle-slall — he shall be called 



120 LETTERS 

a mystic, and delirious ? To him thou, with sniffing char- 
ity, wilt protrusively proffer thy hand lamp, and shriek, as 
one injured, when he kicks his foot through it? Wert thou 
not horn ? Wilt thou not die 1 Explain me all this — or 
do one of two things : retire into private places with thy 
foolish cackle ; or, what were better, give it up ; and weep 
not that the reign of wonder is done, and God's world all 
disembellished and prosaic, but that thou thyself art hitherto 
a sand-blind pedant." 

But if there be any truth in the wonders of animal mag- 
netism, why has not the world heard of them before ? asks 
the inquirer. The world did hear of them, centuries ago ; 
and from time to time they have re-appeared, and arrested 
local and temporary attention ; but not being understood, 
and not being conveyed to the human mind through the 
medium of religious belief, they were soon rejected as fabu- 
lous stories, or idle superstitions ; no one thought of ex- 
amining them, as phenomena governed by laws which 
regulate the universe. 

It is recorded that when the plague raged in Athens, in 
the days of Plato, many recovered from it with a total ob- 
livion of all outward things ; they seemed to themselves to 
be living among other scenes, which were as real to them, 
as the material world was to others. The wisdom of an- 
gels, perchance, perceived it to be far more real. 

Ancient history records that a learned Persian INIagus 
who resided among the mountains that overlooked Taoces, 
recovered from the plague with a perpetual oblivion of all 
outward forms, while he often had knowledge of the 
thoughts passing in the minds of those around him. If an 
unknown scroll were placed before him, he would read it, 
though a brazen shield were interposed between him and 
the parchment ; and if figures were dra^\^l on the water, 
he at once recognised the forms, of which no visible trace 
remained. 



FROM NEW- YORK. 121 

In Taylor's Plato, mention is made of one Clearchus, who 
related an experiment tried in the presence of Aristotle and 
his disciples at the Lyceum. He declares that a man, by 
means of moving a wand up and down, over the body of a 
lad, '• led the soul out of it," and left the form perfectly 
rigid and senseless ; when he afterward led the soul back, 
it told, with wonderful accuracy, all that had been said and 
done. 

This reminds me of a singular circumstance which hap- 
pened to a venerable friend of mine. I had it from her 
own lips. She was taken suddenly ill one day, and 
swooned. To all appearance, she was entirely lifeless ; 
insomuch that her friends feared she was really dead. A 
physician was sent for and a variety of experiments tried, 
before there were any symptoms of returning animation. 
She herself was merely aware of a dizzy and peculiar 
sensation, and then she found herself standing by her own, 
lifeless body, watching all their efforts to resuscitate it. It 
seemed to her strange, and she was too confused to know 
whether she were in that body, or out of it. In the mean- 
time, her anxious friends could not make the slightest im- 
pression on the rigid form, either by sight, hearing, touch, 
taste, or smell ; it was to all appearance dead. The five 
outward gates of entrance to the soul were shut and barred. 
Yet when the body revived, she told everything that had 
been done in the room, every word that had been said, and 
the very expression of their countenances. The soul had 
stood by all the while, and observed what was done to the 
body. How did it see when the eyes were closed, like a 
corpse 1 Answer that, before you disbelieve a thing because 
you cannot understand it. Could I comprehend how the 
simplest violet came into existence, I too would urge that 
plea. It were as wise for a child of four years old to deny 
that the planets move round the sun, because its infant mind 
cannot receive the explanation, as for you and me to ridi- 
6 



123 LETTERS 

cule arcana of the soul's connection with the body, because 
we cannot comprehend them, in this imperfect state of 
existence. Beings so ignorant, should be more humble 
and reverential ; this frame of mind has no affinity what- 
ever wiih the greedy superstition that is eager to believe 
everything, merely because it is wonderful. 

it is deemed incredible that people in magnetic sleep can 
describe objects at a distance, and scenes which they never 
looked upon while waking ; yet nobody doubts the common 
form of somnambulism, called sleep walking. You may 
sino-e the eve-hishes of a sleepwalker with a candle, and 
he will perceive neither you nor the light. His eyes have 
no expression ; they are like those of a corpse. Yet he 
will walk out in the dense darkness, avoiding chairs, tables 
and all other obstructions; he will tread the ridge-pole of a 
roof, far more securely than he could in a natural state, at 
mid-day ; he will harness horses, pack wood, make shoes, 
&c. all in the darkness of midriight. Can you tell me with 
what ey?s he sees to do these things ? and what light directs 
him 1 If you cannot, be humble enough to acknowledge 
that God governs the universe by many laws incomprehen- 
sible to you ; and be wise enough to conclude that these 
phenomena are not deviations from the divine order of 
things, but occasional manifestations of principles always 
at work in the great scale of being, made visible at times, 
by causes as yet unrevealed. 

Allowing very largely for falsehood, trickery, supersti- 
tious fear, and stimulated imagination, I still believe most 
fully tViat many things now rejected as foolish superstitions, 
will hereafter take their appropriate place in a new science 
of spiritual philosophy. From the progress of animal 
magnetism, there may perhaps be evolved much that will 
throw light upon old stories of oracles, witchcraft, and 
second-sight. A large portion of these stories are doubt- 



FROM NEW. YORK. 123 

Iftss falsehoods, fabricated for the most selfish and mis- 
chievous purposes ; others may be an honest record of 
things as they actually seemed to the narrator. Those 
which are true, assuredly have a cause ; and are miracu- 
lous only as our whole being is miraculous. Is not life 
itself the highest miracle ? Everybody can tell you what 
it does, but where is the wise man who can explain what 
it is ? When did the infant receive that mysterious gift ? 
Whence did it come 1 Whilher does it go, when it leaves 
the bodv 1 

Scottish legends abound with instances of second-sight, 
oftentimes supported by a formidable array of evidence ; 
but I have met only one individual who was the subject of 
such a story. 

She is a woman of plain practical sense, very unima- 
ginative, intelligent, extremely well-informed, and as truth- 
ful as the sun. I tell the story as she told it to me. 
One of her relatives was seized with rapid consumption. 
He had for some weeks been perfectly resigned to die ; 
but one morning, when she called upon him, she found his 
eyes brilliant, his cheeks flushed with an unnatural bloom, 
and his mind full of belief that he should recover health. 
He talked eagerly of voyages he would take, and of the 
renovating influence of warmer climes. She listened to 
him with sadness ; for she was well acquainted with his 
treacherous disease, and in all these things she saw symp- 
toms of approaching death. She said this to her mother 
and sisters, when she returned home. In the afternoon of 
the same day, as she sat sewing in the usual family circle, 
she accidentally looked up — and gave a sudden start, which 
immediately attracted attention and inquiry. She replied, 

*'Don't you see cousin ?" 

They thought she had been dreaming ; but she said, *' I 
certainly am not asleep. It is strange you do not see him; 
he is there." The next thought was that she was seized 



124 LETTERS 

with sudden insanity ; but she assured them that she never 
was more rational in her life : that she could not account 
for the circumstance, any more than they could ; but her 
cousin certainly was there, and looking at her with a very 
pleasant countenance. Her mother tried to turn it off as a 
delusion ; but nevertheless, she was so much impressed by 
it, that she looked at her watch, and immediately sent to 
inquire how the invalid did. The messenger returned with 
news that he was dead, and had died at that moment. 

My friend told me that at first she saw only the bust ; 
but gradually the whole form became visible, as if some 
imperceptible cloud, or veil, had slowly rolled away ; the 
invisible veil again rose, till only the bust remained ; and 
then that vanished. 

She said the vision did not terrify her at the time ; it 
simply perplexed her, as a thing incomprehensible. Why 
she saw it, she could explain no better than why her 
mother and sisters did not see it. She simply told it to me 
just as it appeared to her ; as distinct and real as any other 
individual in the room. 

Men would not be afraid to see spirits, if they were bet- 
ter acquainted with their own. It is because we live so 
entirely in the body, that we are startled at a revelation 
of the soul. 

Animal magnetism will come out from all the shams and 
quackery that have made it ridiculous, and will yet be ac- 
acknowledged as an important aid to science, an additional 
proof of immortality, and a means, in the hands of Divine 
Providence, to arrest the progress of materialism. 

For myself, I am deeply thankful for any agency, that 
even momentarily blows aside the thick veil between the 
Finite and the Infinite, and gives me never so hurried and 
imperfect a glimpse of realities which lie beyond this val- 
ley of shadows. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 125 



LETTER XX. 

June 9, 1842. 

There is nothing which makes me feel the imprisonment 
of a city, like the absence of birds. Blessings on the little 
warblers ! Lovely types are they of all winged and grace- 
ful thoughts. Dr. Follen used to say, " I feel dependent for 
a vigorous and hopeful spirit on now and then a kind w^ord, 
the loud laugh of a child, or the silent greeting of a flower." 
Fully do I sympathize with this utterance of his gentle, and 
loving spirit; but more than the benediction of the flower, 
more perhaps than even the mirth of childhood, is the clear, 
joyous note of the bird, a refreshment to my soul. 

•♦ The birds ! the birds of summer hours 

They brin^ a gush of glee, 
To the child among the fragrant flowers, 

To the sailor on the sea. 
We hear their thrilling voices 

In their swift and airy flight, 
And the inmost heart rejoices 

With a calm and pure delight. 
Amid the morning's fragrant dew, 

Amidst the mists of even. 
They warble on, as if they drew 

Their music down from Heaven. 
And when their holy anthems 

Come pealing through the air. 
Our hearts leap forth to meet them. 

With a blessing and a prayer." 

But alas ! like the free voices of fresh youth, they come not 
on the city air. Thus should it be ; where mammon im- 
prisons all thoughts and feeUngs that would fly upward, 



126 LETTERS 

their winged types should be in cages too. Walk down 
Mulberry street, and you may see, in one small room, hun- 
dreds of little feathered songsters, each hopping about rest- 
lessly in his gilded and garlanded cage, like a dyspeptic 
merchant in his marble mansion. I always turn my head 
away when I pass ; for the sight of the little captives goes 
through my heart like an arrow. The darling little crea- 
tures have such visible delight in freedom ; 

" In the joyous song they sing ; 
In the liquid air they cleave ; 
In the sunshine ; in the shower ; 
In the nests they weave." 

I seldom see a bird encasred, without bein^ reminded of 
Petion, a truly great man, the popular idol of Haiti, as 
Washington is of the United States. 

While Petion administered the government of the island, 
some distinguished foreigner sent his little daughter a beau- 
tiful bird, in a very handsome cage. TIk; ciiild was 
delighted, and with great exultation exhibited the present 
to her father. " It is indeed very beautiful, my daughter," 
said he ; " but it makes my heart ache to look at it. I hope 
you will never show it to me again." 

With great astonishment, she inquired his reasons. He 
replied, " When this island was called St. Domingo, we 
were all slaves. It makes me think of it to look at that 
bird ; for he is a slave.'' 

The little girl's eyes filled with tears, and her lips qui- 
vered, as she exclaimed, " Why, father ! he has such a 
large, handsome cage ; and as much as ever he can eat 
and drink." 

*' And would you be a slave," said he, " if you could live 
in a great house, and be fed on frosted cake ?'' 

After a moment's thought, the child began to say, half 
reluctantly, '' Would he be happier, if I opened the door of 



FROM NEW. YORK. 127 

his cage ?'* " He would be free /'' was the emphatic re- 
ply. Without another word, she took the cage to the open 
window, and a moment after, she saw her prisoner playing 
with the humming-birds among the honey-suckles. 

One of the most remarkable cases of instinctive know- 
ledge in birds was often related by my grandfather, who 
witnessed the fact with his own eyes. He was attracted 
to the door, one summer day, by a troubled twittering, in- 
dicating distress and terror. A bird, who had built her 
nest in a tree near the door, was flying back and forth with 
the utmost speed, uttering wailing cries as she went. He 
was at first at a loss to account for her strange movements ; 
but they were soon explaiiicd by the sight of a snake slowly 
■winding up the tree. 

Animal magnetism was then unheard of; and whosoever 
had dared to mention it, would doubtless have been hung 
on Witch's Hill, without benefit of clergy. Nevertheless, 
marvellous and altogether unaccountable stories had been 
told of the snake's power to charm birds. The popular be- 
lief was that the serpent charmed the bird by looking steadi- 
ly at it ; and that such a sympaihy was thereby estahllshed, 
that if the snake were struck, the bird felt the blow, and 
writhed under it. 

These traditions excited my grandfather's curiosity to 
watch the progress of things ; but, being a humane man, 
he resolved to kill the snake before he had a chance to de- 
spoil the nest. The distressed mother meanwhile continued 
her rapid movements and troubled cries ; and he soon dis- 
covered that she went and came continually, with some- 
thing in her bill, from one particular tree — a white ash. 
The snake wound his way up ; but the instant his head 
came near the nest, his folds relaxed, and he fell to the 
ground rigid, and apparently lifeless. My grandfather mjde 
sure of his death by cuttinj; otY his head, and then mounted 
the tree to examine into the mystery. The snug little ne&t 



128 LETTERS 

was filled with eggs, and covered with leaves of the white 
ash! 

That little bird knew, if my readers do not, that contact 
with the white ash is deadly to a snake. This is no idle 
superstition, but a veritable fact in natural history. The 
Indians are aware of it, and twist garlands of white ash 
leaves about their ankles, as aprotection against rattlesnakes . 
Slaves often take the same precaution when they travel 
through swamps and forests, guided by the north star ; or 
to the cabin of some poor white man, who teaches them to 
read and write by the light of pine splinters, and receives 
his pay in " massa's" corn or tobacco. 

I have never heard any explanation of the effect produc- 
ed by the white ash ; but I know that settlers in the wil- 
derness like to have these trees round their log houses, 
being convinced that no snake will voluntarily come near 
them. When touched with the boughs, they are said to 
grow suddenly rigid, with strong convulsions ; after a while 
they slowly recover, but seem sickly for some time. 

The following well authenticated anecdote has something 
wonderfullv human about it : 

A parrot had been caught young, and trained by a Span- 
ish lady, who sold it to an English sea-captain. For a 
time the bird seemed sad among the fogs of England, where 
birds and men all spoke to her in a foreign tongue. By 
degrees, however, she learned the language, forgot her Span- 
ish phrases, and seemed to feel at home. Years passed on, 
and found Pretty Poll the pet of the captain's family. At 
last her brilliant feaihers began to turn gray with age ; she 
could take no food but soft pulp, and had not strength 
enough to mount her perch. But no one had the heart to 
kill the old favourite, she was entwined with so many 
pleasant household recollections. She had been some 
time in this feeble condition, when a Spanish gentleman 
called one day to see her master. It was the first time 



FROM NEW-YORK. 129 

she had heard the language for many years. It probably 
brought back to memory the scenes of her youth in that 
beautiful region of vines and sunshine. She spread forth 
her wings with a wild scream of joy, rapidly ran over the 
Spanish phrases, which she had not uttered for years, and 
fell down dead. 

There is something strangely like reason in this. It 
makes one want to know whence comes the bird's soul, 
and whither £oes it. 

There are different theories on the subject of instinct. 
Some consider it a special revelation to each creature ; 
others believe it is founded on traditions handed down 
among animals, from generation to generation, and is there- 
fore a matter of education. My own observation, two years 
ago, tends to confirm the latter theory. Two barn-swallows 
came into our wood-shed in the spring time. Their busy, 
earnest twitterings led me at once to suspect that they were 
looking out a building-spot ; but as a carpenter's bench was 
under the window, and frequent hammering, sawing, and 
planing were going on, I had little hope they would choose 
a location under our roof. To my surprise, however, they 
soon began to build in the crotch of a beam, over the open 
door-way. I was delighted, and spent more time watching 
them, than " penny-wise" people would have approved. It 
was, in fact, a beautiful little drama of domestic love. The 
mother-bird was so busy, and so important ; and her mate 
was so attentive ! Never did any newly-married couple take 
more satisfaction with their first nicely-arranged drawer of 
baby- clothes, than these did in fashioning their little woven 
cradle. 

The father-bird scarcely ever left the side of the nest. 
There he was, all day long, twittering in tones that were 
most obviously the outpourings of love. Sometimes he 
would bring in a straw, or a hair, to be inwoven in the 
precious little fabric. One day my attention was arrested 
6* 



130 LETTERS 

by a very unusual twittering, and I saw him circling round 
with a large downy feather in his bill. He bent over the 
unfinished nest, and offered it to his mate with the most 
graceful and loving air imaginable ; and when she put up 
her mouth to take it, he poured forth such a gush of glad- 
some sound ! It seemed as if pride and affection had 
swelled his heart, till it was almost too bii; for his little 
bosom. The whole transaction was the prettiest piece of 
fond coquetry, on both sides, that it was ever my good luck 
to witness. 

It was evident that the father-bird had formed correct 
opinions on " the woman question ;" for during the process 
of incubation he volunteered to perform his share of house- 
hold duty. Three or four times a day would he, with 
coaxing twitterings, persuade his patient mate to fly abroad 
for food ; and the moment she left the eggs, he would take 
the maternal station, and give a loud alarm whenever cat 
or dog came about the premises. He certainly performed 
the office with far less ease and grace than she did ; it was 
something in the style of an old bachelor tending a babe ; 
but nevertheless it showed that his heart was kind, and his 
principles correct, concerning division of labour. When 
the young ones came forth, he pursued the same equalizing 
policy, and brought at least half the food for his greedy little 
family. 

But when they became old enough to fly, the veriest 
misanthrope would have laughed to watch their manoeu- 
vres ! Such chirping and twittering ! Such diving down 
from the nest, and flying up again ! Such wheeling round 
in circles, talkinor to the voung ones all the while I Such 
clinging to the sides of the shed with their sharp claws, to 
show the timid little fledgelings that there was no need of 
falling ! 

For three days all this was carried on with increasing 
activity. It was obviously an infant flying school. But 

I 



FROM NEW- YORK. 131 

all their talking and fussing was of no avail. The little 
downy tilings looked down, and then looked up, and alarm- 
ed at the infinity of space, sunk down into the nest again. 
At length the parents grew impatient, and summoned their 
neigh!)ours. As I was picking up chips one day, 1 found 
my head encircled with a swarm of swallows. They flew 
up to the nest, and chatted away to the young ones ; they 
clung to the walls, looking back to tell how the thing was 
done ; they dived, and wheeled, and balanced, and floated, 
in a manner perfectly beautiful to behold. 

The pupils were evidently much excited. They jumped 
up on the edge of the nest, and twittered, and shook their 
feathers, and waved their wings ; and then hopped back 
again, saying, " it's pretty sport, but we can't do it." 

Three times the neighbours came in and repeated their 
graceful lessons. The third time, two of the young birds 
gave a sudden plunge downward, and then fluttered and 
hopped, till they alighted on a small upright log. And oh, 
such praises as were warbled by the whole troop! The 
air was filled with their joy ! Some were flying round, 
swift as a ray of light ; others were perched on the hoe- 
handle, and the teeth of the rake ; multitudes clung to the 
wall, after the fashion of their pretty kind; and two were 
swinging, in most graceful style, on a pendant hoop. Never 
while memory lasts, shall I forget that swallow party ! I 
have frolicked with blessed Nature much and often; but this, 
above all her gambols, spoke into my inmost heart, like the 
glad voices of little children. That beautiful family con- 
tinued to be our playmates, until the falling leaves gave 
token of approaching winter. For some time, the little 
ones came home regularly to their nest at night. I was 
ever on the watch to welcome them, and count that none 
were missing. A sculptor might have taken a lesson in 
his art, from those little creatures perched so gracefully on 
the edge of their clay-built cradle, fast asleep, with heads 



132 LETTERS 

hidden under their folded wings. Their familiarity was 
wonderful. If I hung my gown on a nail, 1 found a little 
swallow perched on the sleeve. If I took a nap in the 
afternoon, my waking eyes were greeted by a swallow on 
the bed-post; in the summer twilight, they flew about the 
sittincr-room in search of flies, and sometimes lighted on 
chairs and tables. I almost thought they knew how much 
I loved them. But at last they flew away to more genial 
skies, with a whole troop of relations and neighbours. It 
was a deep pain to me, that I should never know them 
from other swallows, and that they would have no recol- 
lection of me. We had iived so friendly together, that I 
wanted to meet them in another world, if I could not in this ; 
and 1 wept, as a child weeps at its first grief. 

There was somewhat, too, in their beautiful life of loving 
freedom which was a reproach to me. Why was not my 
life as happy and as graceful as theirs ? Because they 
were innocent, confiding, and unconscious, they fulfilled all 
the laws of their being without obstruction. 

•' Inward, inward to thy heart, 

Kindly Nature, take me ; 
Lovely, even as thou art, 

Full of loving, make me. 
Thou knowest nought of dead-cold forms, 

Knowest nought of littleness; 
Lifeful truth thy being warms, 

Majesty and earnestness." 

The old Greeks observed a beautiful festival, called 
" The Welcome of the Swallows." When these social 
birds first returned in the spring-time, the children went 
about in procession, with music and garlands ; receiving 
presents at every door, where they stopped to sing a wel- 
come to the swallows, in that graceful old language, so 
melodious even in its ruins, that the listener feels as if the 
brilliant azure of Grecian skies, the breezy motion of their 



FROM NEW. YORK. 133 

olive groves, and the gush of their silvery fountains, had all 
passed into a monument of liquid and harmonious sounds. 



LETTER XXI. 

June 16, 1842. 

If you want refreshment for the eye, and the luxury of 
pure breezes, go to Staten Island. This beautiful little 
spot, which lies so gracefully on the waters, was sold by 
the Indians to the Dutch, in 1657, for ten shirts, thirty pairs 
of stockings, ten guns, thirty bars of lead for balls, thirty 
pounds of powder, twelve coats, two pieces of duffil, thirty 
kettles, thirty hatchets, twenty hoes, and a case of knives 
and awls. This was then considered a fair compensation 
for a tract eighteen miles long, and seven broad ; and com- 
pared with most of our business transactions with the In- 
dians, it will not appear illiberal. The facilities for fishing, 
the abundance of oysters, the pleasantness of the situation, 
and old associations, all endeared it to the natives. They 
lingered about the island, like reluctant ghosts, until 1670 ; 
when, being urged to depart, they made a new requisition 
of four hundred fathoms of wampum, and a large number of 
guns and axes ; a demand which was very wisely complied 
with, for the sake of a final ratification of the treaty. 

On this island is a quarantine ground, unrivalled for the 
airiness of its situation and the comfort and cleanliness of 
its arrangements. Of the foreigners from all nations which 
flood our shores, an immense proportion here take their first 
footstep on American soil ; and judging from the welcome 
Nature gives them, they might well believe they had arrived 
in Paradise. From the high grounds, three hundred feet 
above the level of the sea, may be seen a most beautiful 



134 LETTERS 

variety of land and sea, of rural quiet, and city splendor. 
Long Island spreads before you her vernal forests, and fielc's 
of golden grain ; the North and East rivers sparkle in the 
distance ; and the magnificent Hudson is seen flowing on 
in joyful freedom. The city itself seems clean and bright 
in the distance — its deformities hidden, and its beauties 
exasperated, like the fame of far-off heroes. When the sun 
shines on its steeples, windows, and roofs of glittering tin, 
it is as if the Fire Spirits had suddenly created a city of 
fairy palaces. And when the still shadows creep over it, and 
the distant lights shine like descended constellations, twink- 
ling to the moaning music of the sea, there is something 
oppressive in its solemn beauty. Then comes the golden 
morning light, as if God suddenly unveiled his glory ! 
There on the bright waters float a thousand snowy sails, 
like a troop of beautiful sea birds ; and imagination, strong 
in morning freshness, flies off through the outlet to the dis- 
tant sea, and circles all the globe with its wreath of flowers. 

Amid these images of joy, reposes the quarantine burying- 
ground ; bringing sad association, like the bass-note in a 
music-box. How many who leave their distant homes, full 
of golden visions, come here to take their first and last look 
of the promised land. What to them are all the fair, broad, 
acres of this new world ? They need but the narrow heri- 
tage of a grave. But every soul that goes hence, apart from 
friends and kindred, carries with it a whole unrevealed epic 
of joy and sorrow, of gentle sympathies and passion's fiery 
depths. O, how rich in more than Shakspearean beauty 
would be the literature of that quarantine ground, if all the 
images that pass in procession before those dying eyes, 
would write themselves in daguerreotype ! 

One of the most interesting places on this island, is the 
Sailor's Snug Harbor. A few years ago, a gentleman by 
the name of Randall, left a small farm, that rented for two 
or three hundred dollars, at the corner of Eleventh-street 
and Broadway, for the benefit of old and wora-out sailors. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 135 

This property increased in value, until it enabled the trus- 
tees to purchase a farm on Staten Island, and erect a noble 
stone edifice, as a hospital for disabled seamen ; with an 
annual income of nearly thirty thousand dollars. The 
building has a very handsome exterior, and is large, airy, 
and convenient. The front door opens into a spacious hall, 
at the extremity of which flowers and evergreens are ar- 
ranged one above another, like the terrace of a conservato- 
ry ; and from the entries above, you look down into this 
pretty nook of '• greenery.*' The whole aspect of things is 
extremely pleasant — with the exception of the sailors them- 
selves. There is a sort of torpid resignation in counte- 
nance and movement, painful to witness. They reminded 
me of what some one said of the Greenwich pensioners : 
" they seemed to be waiting for death.'' No outward com- 
fort seemed wanting, except the constant prospect of the 
sea : but they stood alone in the world — no wives, no 
children. Connected by no link with the ever-active Pre- 
sent, a monotonous Future stretched before them, made 
more dreary by its contrast with the keen excitement and 
ever-shifting variety of their Past life of peril and pleasure, 
I have always thought too little provision was made for this 
lassitude of the mind, in most benevolent institutions. Men 
accustomed to excitement, cannot do altogether without it. 
It is a necessity of nature, and should be ministered to in 
all innocent forms. Those poor old tars should have sea- 
songs and instrumental music, once in a while, to stir their 
sluggish blood ; and a feast might be given on great occa- 
sions, to younger sailors from temperance boarding-houses, 
that the Past might have a chance to hear from the Pre- 
sent. We perform but a half charity, when we comfort the 
body and leave the soul desolate. 

Within the precincts of the city, too, are pleasant and 
safe homes provided for sailors ; spacious, well-ventilated, 
and supplied with libraries and museums. 

/' 



136 LETTERS 

After all, this nineteenth century, with all its turmoil and 
clatter, has some lovely features about it ? If evil spreads 
with unexampled rapidity, good is abroad, too, with mira- 
culous and omnipresent activity. Unless we are struck by 
the tail of a comet, or sv/allowed by the sun meanwhile, 
we certainly shall get the world right side up, by and by. 

Among the many instrumentalities at work to produce 
this, increasing interest in the sailor's welfare is a cheering 
omen. Of all classes, except the negro slaves, they have 
been the most neglected and the most abused. The book 
of judgment can alone reveal how much they have suffered 
on the wide, deep ocean, with no door to escape from ty- 
ranny, no friendly forest to hide them from the hunter ; 
doomed, at their best estate, to suffer almost continued de- 
privation of home, that worst feature in the curse of Cain ; 
their minds shut up in caves of ignorance so deep, that if 
religion enters with a friendly lamp, it too frequently ter- 
rifies them with the shadows it makes visible. Religious 
they must be, in some sense, even when they know it not ; 
for no man with a human soul within him, can be uncon- 
scious of the Divine Presence, with infinite space round 
him, the blue sky overhead, with its million world-lamps, 
and everyv/here, beneath and around him, 

" Great ocean, strangest of creation's sons ! 
Unconquerable, unreposed, untired ! 
That rolls the wild, profound, eternal bass 
In Nature's anthem, and makes music such 
As pleaseth the ear of God." 

Thus circumstanced, the sailor cannot be ignorant, without 
being superstitious too. The Infinite comes continually 
before him, in the sublimest symbols of sight and sound. 
He does not know the language, but he feels the tone. 
Goethe has told us, in most beautiful allegory, of two 
bridges, whereby earnest souls pass from the Finite to the 



FROM NEW-YORK. 137 

Infinite. One is a rainbow, which spans the dark river ; 
and this is Faith ; the other is a shadow cast quite over by 
the giant Superstition, when he stands between the setting 
sun and the unknown shore. 

Blessings on all friendly hands that are leading the sailor 
to the rainbow bridge. His spirit is made reverential in 
the great temple of Nature, resounding with the wild voices 
of the winds, and strange music of the storm-organ ; too 
long has it been left trembling and shivering on the bridge 
of shadows. For him, too, the rainbow spans the dark 
stream, and becomes at last a bridge of gems. 



LETTER XXII. 

June 23, 1842. 

The highest gifts my soul has received, during its world- 
pilgrimage, have often been bestowed by those who were 
poor, both in money and intellectual cultivation. Among 
these donors, I particularly remember a hard-working, uned- 
ucated mechanic, from Indiana or Illinois. He told me that 
he was one of thirty or forty New Englanders, who, twelve 
years before, had gone out to settle in the western wilder- 
ness. They were mostly neighbours ; and had been drawn 
to unite together in emigration from a general unity of opin- 
ion on various subjects. For some years previous, they 
had been in ihe habit of meeting occasionally at each 
others' houses, to talk over their duties to God and man, in 
all simplicity of heart. Their library was the gospel, their 
priesthood the inward light. There were then no anti- 
slavery societies ; but thus taught, and reverently willing to 
learn, they had no need of such agency, to discover that it 



138 LETTERS 

was wicked to enslave. The efforts of peace societies had 
reached this secluded band only in broken echoes, and non- 
resistance societies had no existence. But with the vol- 
ume of the Prince of Peace, and hearts open to his influ- 
ence, what need had they of preambles and resolutions 1 

Rich in spiritual culture, this little band started for the far 
West. Their inward homes were blooming gardens ; they 
made their outward in a wilderness. They were indus- 
trious and frugal, and all things prospered under their hands. 
But soon wolves came near the fold, in the shape of reck- 
less, unprincipled adventurers ; believers in force and cun- 
ning, who acted according to their creed. The colony of 
practical Christians spoke of their depredations in terms of 
gentlest remonstrance, and repaid them with unvarying 
kindness. They went farther — they openly announced, 
" You may do us what evil you choose, we will return no- 
thing but good." Lawyers came into the neighbourhood, and 
offered their services to settle disputes. They answered, 
** We have no need of you. As neighbours, we receive you 
in the most friendly spirit ; but for us, your occupation has 
ceased to exist." " What will you do, if rascals burn your 
barns, and steal your harvests ?" " We will return good for 
evil. We believe this is the highest truth, and therefore the 
best expediency." 

When the rascals heard this, they considered it a mar- 
vellous good joke, and said and did many provoking things, 
which to them seemed witty. Bars were taken down in 
the night, and cows let into the cornfields. The Christians 
repaired the damage as well as they could, put the cows in 
the barn, and at twilight drove them gently home, saying, 
*' Neighbour, your cows have been in my field. I have fed 
them well during the day, but I would not keep them all 
night, lest the children should suffer for their milk." 

If this was fun, they who planned the joke found no heart 
to laugh at it. By degrees, a visible change came over 



FROM NEW.YORK. 139 

these troublesome neighbours. They ceased to cut off 
horses' tails, and break the legs of poultry. Rude boys 
would say to a younger brother, " Don't throw that stone, 
Bill ! When I killed the chicken last week, didn't they 
send it to mother, because they thought chicken-brolh would 
be good for poor Mary ? I should think you'd be ashamed 
to throw stones at their chickens." Thus was evil over- 
come with good, till not one was found to do them wilful 
injury. 

Years passed on, and saw them thriving in worldly sub- 
stance, beyond their neighbours, yet beloved by all. From 
them the lawyer and the constable obtained no fees. The 
sheriff stammered and apologized, when he took their hard- 
earned goods in payment for the war-tax. They mildly 
replied, " 'Tis a bad trade, friend. Examine it in the light 
of conscience and see if it be not so." But while they re- 
fused to pay such fees and taxes, they were liberal to a pro- 
verb in their contributions for all useful and benevolent pur- 
poses. 

At the end of ten years, the public lands, which they 
had chosen for their farms, were advertised for sale by auc- 
tion. According to custom, those who had settled and cul- 
tivated the soil, were considered to have a right to bid it in 
at the government price; which at that time was Sl,25 
per acre. But the fever of land-speculation then chanced 
to run unusually high. Adventurers from all parts of the 
country were flocking to the auction ; and capitalists in 
Baltimore, Philadelphia, New-York, and Boston, were 
sending agents to buy up west'ern lands. No one supposed 
that custom, or equity, would be regarded. The first day's 
sale showed that speculation ran to the verge of insanity. 
Land was eagerly bought in, at seventeen, twenty-five, and 
thirty dollars an acre. The Christian colony had small 
hope of retaining their farms. As first settlers, they had 
chosen the best land ; and persevering industry had brought 



140 LETTERS 

it into the higliest cultivation. Its market-value was much 
greater than the acres already sold, at exorbitant prices. 
In view of these facts, they had prepared their minds for 
another remove into the wilderness, perhaps to be again 
ejected by a similar process. But the morning their lot 
was offered for sale, they observed, with grateful surprise, 
that their neighbours were everywhere busy among the 
crowd, begging and expostulating : " Don't bid on these 
lands ! These men have been working hard on them for 
ten years. During all that time, they never did harm to 
man or brute. They are always ready to do good for evil. 
They are a blessing to any neighbourhood. It would be a 
sin and a shame to bid on their lands. Let them go, at the 
government price." 

The sale came on ; the cultivators of the soil offered 
$1,25 ; intending to bid higher if necessary. But among 
all that crowd of selfish, reckless speculators, not one bid 
over them! Without an opposing voice, the fair acres re- 
turned to them ! I do not know a more remarkable instance 
of evil overcome with good. The wisest political economy 
lies folded up in the maxims of Christ. 

With delighted reverence, I listened to this unlettered 
backwoodsman, as he explained his philosophy of univer- 
sal love. " What would you do," said I, " if an idle, thiev- 
ing vagabond came among you, resolved to stay, but de- 
termined not to work ?" " We would give him food when 
hungry, shelter him when cold, and always treat him as a 
brother." " Would not this process attract such characters ? 
How would you avoid being ©verrun with them ?" *' Such 
characters would either reform, or not remain with us. We 
should never speak an angry word, or refuse to minister to 
their necessities ; but we should invariably regard them 
with the deepest sadness, as we would a guilty, but beloved 
son. This is harder for the human soul to bear, than whips 
or prisons. They could not stand it ; I am sure they could 



FROM NEW-YORK. 141 

not. It would either melt them, or drive them away. In 
nine cases out often, I believe it would melt them." 

1 felt rebuked for my want of faith, and consequent shal- 
lowness of insight. That hard-handed labourer brought 
greater riches to my soul than an Eastern merchant laden 
with pearls. Again I repeat, money is not wealth. 



LETTER XXIII. 

Juiy 7, 1842. 

It has been my fortune, in the course of a changing life, 
to meet with many strange characters ; but I never, till 
lately, met with one altogether unaccountable. 

Some six or eight years ago, I read a very odd^amphlet, 
called ''The Patriarchal System of Society, as it exists 
under the name of Slavery ; with its necessity and advan- 
tages. By an inhabitant of Florida." The writer assumes 
that "the patriarchal system constitutes the bond of social 
compact; and is better adapted for strength, durability, and 
independence, than any state of society hitherto adopted." 

" The prosperous state of our northern neighbours," says 
he, " proceeds, in many instances, indirectly from southern 
slave labour ; though they are not aware of it." This was 
written in 1829 ; read in these days of universal southern 
bankruptcy, it seems ludicrous ; as if it had been intended 
for sarcasm, rather than sober earnest. 

But the main object of this singular production is to prove 
that colour ought not to be the badore of degradation ; that 
the only distinction should be between slave ^ndfree — not 
between white and coloured. That the free people of colour, 
instead of being persecuted, and driven from the Southern 
States, ought to be made eligible to all offices and means of* 



142 LETTERS 

wealth. This would form, he thinks, a grand chain of se- 
curity, by which the interests of the two castes would be- 
come united, and the slaves be kept in permanent subordi- 
nation. Intermarriage between the races he strongly 
advocates ; not only as strengthening the bond of union be- 
tween castes that otherwise naturally war upon each other, 
but as a great improvement of the human race. "The in- 
termediate grades of colour," says he, *' are not only healthy, 
but, when condition is favourable, they are improved in 
shape, strength, and beauty. Daily experience shows that 
there is no natural antipathy between the castes on account 
of colour. It only requires to repeal laws as impolitic as 
they are unjust and unnatural — laws which confound beau- 
ty, merit, and condition, in one state of infamy and degra- 
dation on account of complexion. It is only required to 
leave nature to find out a safe and wholesome remedy for 
evils, wihich of all others are the most deplorable, because 
they are morally irreconcileable with the fundamental prin- 
ciples of happiness and self-preservation." 

I afterwards heard that Z. Kinsley, the author of this 
pamphlet, lived with a coloured wife, and treated her and 
her children with kindness and consideration. A traveller, 
writing from Florida, stated that he visited a planter, whose 
coloufed wife sat at the head of the table, surrounded by 
healthy and handsome children. That the parlour was full 
of portraits of African beauties, to which the gentleman 
drew his attention, with much exultation; dwelling with 
great earnestness on the superior physical endowments of 
the coloured race, and the obvious advantages of amalgama- 
tion. I at once conjectured that this eccentric planter was 
the author of the pamphlet on the patriarchal system. 

Soon after, it was rumoured that Mr. Kinsley had pur- 
chased a large tract of land of the Haitien government ; that 
he had carried his slaves there, and given them lots. Then 
^ I heard that it was a colony, established for the advantage 



\ 



FROM NEW. YORK. 143 

of his own mulatto sons ; that the workmen were in a quali- 
fied kind of slavery, by consent of the government ; and 
that he still held a large number of slaves in Florida. 

Last week, this individual, who had so much excited my 
curiosity, was in the city ; and I sought an interview. I 
found his conversation entertaining, but marked by the same 
incongruity, that characterizes his writings and his prac- 
tice. His head is a peculiar one ; it would, I think, prove 
as great a puzzle to phrenologists, as he himself is to mo- 
ralists and philosophers. 

I told him of the traveller's letter, and asked if he were 
the gentleman described. 

*' I never saw the letter ;" he replied ; " but from what 
you say, I have no doubt that I am the man. I always 
thought and said, that the coloured race were superior to us, 
physically and morally. They are more healthy, have more 
graceful forms, softer skins, and sweeter voices. They are 
more docile and affectionate, more faithful in their attach- 
ments, and less prone to mischief, than the white race. If 
it were not so, they could not have been kept in slavery." 

" It is a shameful and a shocking thought," said I, " that 
we should keep them in slavery by reason of their very vir- 
tues." 

*' It is so, ma'am ; but, like many other shameful things, 
it is true." 

»' Where did you obtain your portraits of coloured beau- 
ties ?" 

*' In various places. Some of thorn I got on the coast of 
Africa. If you want to see beautiful specimens of the hu- 
man race, you should see some of the native women there." 

*' Then you have been on the coast of Africa ?" 

" Yes, ma'am ; I carried on the slave trade several 
years." 

•* You announce that fact very coolly," said I. "Do you 
you know that, in New England, men look upon a slave- 
trader with as much horrt)r as they do upon a pirate ?" 



144 LETTERS 

" Yes ; and T am glad of it. They will look upon a 
slaveholder just so, by and by. Slave trading was very 
respectable business when I was young. The first mer- 
chants in England and America were engaged in il. Some 
people hide things which they think other people don't like. 
I never conceal anything." 

*' Where did you become acquainted with your wife ?" 

" On the coast of Africa, ma'am. She was a new nigger, 
when I first saw her." 

" What led you to become attached to her ?" 

" She was a fine, tall figure, black as jet, but very hand- 
some. She was very capable, and could carry on all the 
affairs of the plantation in my absence, as well as I could 
myself. She was affectionate and faithful, and I could trust 
her. I have fixed her nicely in my Haitien colony. I 
wish you would go there. She would give you the best in 
the house. You ought to go, to see how happy the human 
race can be. It is in a fine, rich valley, about thirty miles 
from Port Platte ; heavily timbered with mahotjany all 
round ; well watered ; flowers so beautiful : fruits in 
abundance, so delicious that you could not refrain from stop, 
ping to eat, till you could eat no more. My son has laid 
out good roads, and built bridges and mills ; the people are 
improving, and everything is prosperous. I am anxious to 
establish a good school there. I engaged a teacher ; but 
somebody persuaded him it was mean to teach niggers, 
and so he fell off* from his bargain." 

*' I have heard that you hold your labourers in a sort of 
qualified slavery ; and some friends of the coloured race 
have apprehensions that you may sell them again." 

" My labourers in Haiti are not slaves. They are a kind 
of indented apprentices. I give them land, and they bind 
themselves to work for me. I have no power to take them 
away from that island ; and you know very well that I 
could not sell them there." 



FROM NEW-YORK. 145 

'* I am glad you have relinquished the power to make 
slaves of them again. I had charge of a fine, intelligent 
fugitive, about a year ago. I wanted to send him to your 
colony ; but I did not dare to trust you " 

" You need not have been afraid, ma'am. I should be 
the last man on earth to give up a runaway. If my own 
were to run away, I wouldn't go after 'em." 

*'If these are your feelings, why don't you take all your 
slaves to Haiti ?" 

" I have thought that subject all over, ma'am ; and I have 
settled it in my own mind. All we can do in this world is 
to balance evils. I want to do great things for Haiti ; and 
in order to do them, I must have money. If I have no ne- 
groes to cultivate my Florida lands, they will run to waste ; 
and then I can raise no money from them for the benefit of 
Haiti. I do all I can to make them comfortable, and they 
love me like a father. They would do any thing on earth 
to please me. Once I stayed away longer than usual, and 
they thought I was dead. When I reached home, they 
overwhelmed me with their caresses ; I could hardly stand 
it.'» 

*' Does it not grieve you to think of leaving these faithful, 
kind-hearted people to the cruel chances of slavery ?" 

*' Yes, it does ; but I hope to get all my plans settled in 
a few years." 

*• You tell me you are seventy-six years old ; what if 
you should die before your plans are completed ?" 

" Likely enough I shal]. In that case, my heirs would 
break my will, I dare say, and my poor niggers would be 
badly oft?' 

'* Then manumit them now ; and avoid this dreadful risk." 

" I have thought that all over, ma'am ; and I have 
settled it that I can do more good by keeping them in slave- 
ry a few years more. The best we can do in this world 
is to balance evils judiciously." 
7 



146 LETTERS 

<* But you do not balance wisely. Remember that all 
tbe descendants of your slaves, through all coming time, 
will be afliected by your decision." 

** So will all Haiti be affected, through all coming time, 
if I can carry out my plans. To do good in the world, we 
must have money. That's the way I reasoned when I 
carried on the slave trade. It was very profitable then.'* 

'* And do you have no remorse of conscience, in recol- 
lecting that bad business ?" 

" Some things I do not like to remember ; but they were 
not things in which I was to blame ; they were inevitably 
attendant on the trade." 

I argued that any trade must be wicked, that had such 
inevitable consequences. He admitted it ; but still clung 
to his balance of evils. If that theory is admitted in morals 
at all, 1 confess that his practice seems to me a legitimate, 
though an extreme result. But it was altogether vain to 
argue with him about fixed principles of right and wrong; 
one might as well fire small shot at the hide of a rhinoceros. 
Yet were there admirable points about him ; — perseverance, 
that would conquer the world ; an heroic candour, that 
avowed all things, creditable and discreditable ; and kindly 
sympathies, too — though it must be confessed that they go 
groping and floundering about in the strangest fashion. 

He came from Scotland; no other country, perhaps, ex- 
cept New-England, could have produced such a character. 
His father was a Quaker: and he still loves to attend 
Quaker meetings ; particularly silent ones, where he says 
he has planned some of his best bargains. To complete 
the circle of contradictions, he likes the abolitionists, and 
is a prodigious admirer of George Thompson. 

*' My neighbours call me an abolitionist," said he ; "I 
tell them they may do so, in welcome ; for it is a pity they 
shouldn't have one case of amalgamation to point at.'* 

This singular individual has been conversant with all 



FROM NEW. YORK. 147 

sorts of people, and seen almost all parts of the worl^, 
" I have known the Malay and the African, the North 
American Indian, and the European," said he ; "and the 
more I've seen of the world, the less I understand it. It's 
a queer place ; that's a fact. " 

Probably this mixture with people of all creeds and cus- 
toms, combined with the habit of looking ou'ward for his 
guide of action, may have bewildered his moral sense, and 
produced his system of '* balancing evils!" A theory ob- 
viously absurd, as well as slippery in its application ; for 
none but God cin balance evils ; it requires omniscience 
and omnipresence to do it. 

His conversation produced great activity of thought on 
the subject of conscience, and of that " light that lighteih 
every man who cometh into the world." Whether this 
utilitarian remembers it or not, he must have stifled many 
convictions before he arrived at his present state of mind. 
And so it must have been with "the pious John Newton," 
whose devotional letters from the coast of Africa, while he 
was slave-trading there, record '* sweet seasons of com- 
munion with his God." That hs was not left without a 
witness within him, is proved by the fact, that in his 
journal he expresses gratitude to God for opening the door 
for him to leave the slave trade, by providing other employ- 
ment. The monitor within did not deceive him ; but his edu- 
cation was at war with its dictates, because it taught him 
that whatever was legalized was right. Plain as the guilt 
of the slave trade now is, to every man, woman, and child, 
it was not so in the time of Clarkson ; had it been other- 
wise, there would have been no need of his labours. He 
was accused of planning treason and insurrection, plots were 
laid against his life, and the difficulty of combating his ob- 
viously just principles, led to the vilest misrepresentations 
and the most false assumptions. Thus it must always be 
with those who attack a very corrupt public opinion. 



148 LETTERS 

The slave trade, which all civilized laws now denounce 
as piracy, was defended in precisely the same spirit that 
slavery is x\o^. Witness the following remarks from Bos- 
well, the biographer of Dr. Johnson, whose opinions echo 
the tone of genteel society : 

*' I beg leave to enter my most solemn protest against 
Dr. Johnson's general doctrine with respect to the slave 
trade. I will resolutely say that his unfavourable notion of 
it was owing to prejudice, and imperfect or false infor- 
mation. The wild and dangerous attempt which has for 
some time been persisted in, to obtain an act of our legisla- 
ture to abolish so very important and necessary a branch of 
commercial interest, must have been crushed at once, had 
not the ins'gn'Jicancs of the zealots, who vainly took the 
lead in it, made the vast body of planters, merchants, and 
others, whose immense properties are involved in that 
trade, reasonably enough suppose that there could be no 
danger. The encouragement which the attempt has re- 
ceived, excites my wonder and indignation ; and though 
some men of superior abilities have supported it, (whether 
fiom a love of temporary popularity when prosperous, or a 
Ijve of general mischief when desperate,) my opinion is 
unshaken. To abolish a status which in all ages God has 
sanctlnnpd, and man continued, would not only be robbery 
to an innumerable class of our fellow subjects, but it would 
be extreme cruelty to African savages ; a portion of whom 
ii saves from massacre, or intolerable bondage in their own 
country, and introduces into a much happier state of life ; 
especially now, when their passage to the West Indies, 
and their treatment there, is humanely regulated. To 
abo'ish that trade, would be to shut the gates of mercy on 
mankind." 

These changes in the code of morals adopted by society, 
by no means unsettle my belief in eternal and unchange- 
able principles of right and wrong ; neither do they lead 



FROM N|EW-Y;oRK. 149 

me to doubt that in all these cases men inwardly know bet- 
ter than they act. The slaveholder, when he manumits on 
his death-bed, thereby acknowledges that he has known he 
was doing wrong. Public opinion expresses wh;it men 
will to do ; not their inward perceptions. All kinds of 
crimes have been countenanced by public opinion, in some 
age or nation ; but we cannot as easily show how far they 
were sustained by reason and conscience in each individual. 
I believe the lamp never goes out, though it may shine 
dimly through a foggy atmosphere. 

This consideration should renew our zeal to purify public 
opinion ; to let no act or word of ours help to corrupt it, in 
the sliohtest degree. How shall we fulfil this sacred trust, 
which each holds for the good of all ? Not by calculating 
consequences ; not by balancing evils ; but by reverent 
obedience to our own highest convictions of individual duty. 

Few men ask concerning right and wrong of their own 
hearts. Few listen to the oracle within, which can only be 
heard in the stillness. The merchant seeks his moral 
standard on 'Change — a fitting name for a thing so fluctuat- 
ing ; the sectary in the opinion of his small theological 
department; the politician in the tumultuous echo of his 
party ; the worldling in the buzz of saloons. In a word, 
each man inquires of his public ; what wonder, then, that 
the answers are selfish as trading interest, blind as local 
prejudice, and various as human whim ? 

A German drawincr-master once told me of a lad who 
wished to sketch landscapes from nature. The teacher told 
him that the first object was to choose some Jixed point of 
view. The sagacious pupil chose a cow grazing beneath 
the trees. Of course, his fixed point soon began to move 
hither and thither, as she was attracted by the sweetness of 
the pasturage ; and the lines of his drawing fell into strange 
confusion. 

This a correct type of those who choose public opinion 



150 LETTERS 

for their moral fixed point of view. It moves according to 
the provender before it, and they who trust to it have but a 
whirling and distorted landscape. 

Coleridge defines public opinion as " the average preju- 
dices of the community.'' Wo unto those who have no 
safer guide of principle and practice than this " average of 
prejudices." Wo unto them in an especial maimer, in these 
latter days, when " The windows of heaven are opened, 
and iherrfore the foundations of the earth do shale !^^ 

Feeble wanderers are they, following a flickering Jack- 
o'lantern, when there is a calm, bright pole-star forever 
above the horizon, to guide their steps, if they would but 
look to it. 



LETTER XXIV. 

July 28, 1842. 

When the spirit is at war with its outward environment, 
because it is not inwardly dwelling in trustful obedience to 
its God, how often does some verv slight incident brin^ it 
back, humble, and repentant, to the Father's footstool ! A 
few days since, cities seemed to me such hateful places, 
that I deemed it the greatest of hardships to be pent up 
therein. As usual, the outward <jrew more and more de- 
testable, as it reflected the restlessness of the inward. 
Piles of stones and rubbish, left by the desolating fire, 
looked more hot and dreary than ever ; they were building 
brick houses between me and the sunset — and in my re- 
quiring selfishness, I felt as if it were mj/ sunset, and no 
man had a right to shut it out ; and then to add the last 
drop to my vexation, they painted the roof of house and 
piazza as fierce a red as if the mantle of the great fire, that 



FROM NEW. YORK. 151 

destroyed its predecessor, had fallen over them. The wise 
course would have been, to try to find something agreeable 
in a red roof, since it suited my neighbour's convenience to 
have one. But the head was not in a mood to be wise, 
because the heart was not humble and obedient ; so 1 fret- 
ted inwardly about ths red roof, more than I would care to 
tell in words ; I even thought to myself, that it would be 
no more than just and right if people with such bad taste 
should be sent to live by themselvijs on a quarantine island. 
Then I began to think of myself as a most unfortunate and 
ill-used individual, to be for ever pent up within brick walls 
without even a dandelion to gaze upon ; from that I fell to 
thinking of many fierce encounters between my will and 
necessity, and how will had always been conquered, chain- 
ed, and sent to the treadmill to work. The more I thought 
after this fashion, hotter glared the bricks, and fiercer 
glowed the red roof, under the scorching sun. I was 
making a desert within, to paint its desolate hkeness on the 
scene without. 

A friend found me thus, and having faith in Nature's 
healing power, he said, " Let us seek green fields and 
flowery nooks." So we walked abroad ; and while yet 
amid the rattle and glare of the city, close by the iron rail- 
way, I saw a very little, ragged child stooping over a small 
patch of stinted, dusty grass. She rose up with a broad 
smile over her hot face, for she had found a white clover ! 
The tears were in my eyes. " God bless thee, poor 
child!" said I ; " thou hast taught my soul a lesson, which 
it will not soon forget. Thou, poor neglected one, canj^t 
find blossoms by the dusty wayside, and rejoice in thy 
hard path, as if it were a mossy bank strewn with violets.'* 
I felt humbled before that raoijed, gladsome child. Then 
saw I plainly that walls of brick and mortar did not, and 
could not, hem me in. I thought of those who loved me, 
an J e\e;y remembered, kindness was a flower in my path ; 



152 LETTERS 

I thouglit of intellectual gardens, where this child might 
perchance never enter, but where I could wander at will 
over acres broad as the world ; and if even there, the rest- 
less spirit felt a limit, lo, poetry had but to throw a ray 
thereon, and the fair gardens of earth were reflected in the 
heavens like the fata morgana of Italian skies, in a dra- 
pery of rainbows. Because I was poor in spirit, straight- 
way there was none so rich as I. Then was it revealed 
to me that only the soul which gathers flowers by the dusty 
wayside can truly love the fresh anemone by the running 
brook, or the trailing arbutus hiding its sweet face among 
the fallen leaves. I returned home a better and wiser wo- 
man, thanks to the ministry of that little one. I saw that I 
was not ill-used and unfortunate, but blessed beyond others ; 
one of Nature's favourites, whom she ever took to her 
kindly heart, and comforted in all seasons of distress and 
waywardness. Though the sunset was shut out, there still 
remained the roseate flush of twilight, as if the sun, in 
answer to my love, had written to me a farewell message 
on the sky. The red piazza stood there, blushing for him 
who painted it ; but it no longer pained my eyesight ; I 
thought what a friendly warmth it would have, seen through 
the wintry snows. Oh, blessed indeed are little children ! 
Mortals do not understand half they owe them ; for the 
good they do us is a spiritual gift, and few perceive how it 
intertwines the mystery of life. They form a ladder of 
garlands on which the angels descend to our souls ; and 
without them, such communication would be utterly lost. 
Let us strive to be like little children. 

As I mused on the altered aspect of the outward world, 
according to the state of him who looked upon it, I raised to 
my eye a drop from a broken chandelier. That glass frag- 
ment was like a fairy wand, or Aladdin's wondrous lamp. 
The line of tumbling wooden shantees, which I had often 
blamed the capricious fire for sparing, the piles of lime and 



FROM NEW-YORK. 163 

stones that wearied my eyesight, were at once changed 
to rainbows; even the ofTensive red roof smiled upon me 
in the softened beauty of purple and gold. Not earth, but 
the medium through which earth is seen, produces beauty. 
I said to myself, " Whereunto shall I liken this angular bit 
of glass ?" The answer came to me in music — in words 
and tones of song : "The faith touching all things with 
hues of heaven." Then prayed I earnestly for that faith, 
as a perpetual gift. Prayer, earnest and true, rose from 
that fraoment of broken glass ; thus from things most com- 
mon and trivia], spring the highest and the holiest. 

I thought then that I would never again lo<(k on outward 
circumstances, except in the cheerful light of a trusting and 
grateful heart. Yet within a week, came the restless com- 
paring of me with thee. If I could only be situated as such 
an one was, how good I could be, and how much good I 
would do, I said within myself, " This must not be. If 
I indulge this train of thought, the walls will again crowd 
upon me, and the bricks glare worse than ever." So I 
walked to the Battery, to look at moonlight on the water ; 
in full faith that " Nature never did betray the heart that 
loved her.'* The moon had not yet risen ; but softly from 
the recesses of Castle Garden came tones of music, wel- 
come to my soul as a mother's voice. We walked in, 
thinking only to hear the band, and lounge quietly on a 
seat overhanging the water. All pleasure in this world is 
but the cessation of some pain ; and they only who work 
unto weariness, in mind or body, can fully enjoy the luxury 
of repose. And this repose was so perfect, so strengthen- 
ing ! Instead of the pent-up, stifling air of the central city, 
was a cool, eveifing breeze, gentle as if a thousand winged 
messengers fanned one's cheeks for love ; belo'.v, the ever- 
flowing water laved the stones with a refreshing sound ; 
round us floated music, so plaintive and so shadowy ! It 
sung '' The light of other days"— the very voice of moon» 
1* 



164. LETTERS 

light, soft and trembling over the dim waters of the Past ; 
and then, as if the atmosphere were not already bathed in 
sufficient beauty, slowlj' rose the mild, majestic moon ; and 
the water-spirits hailed her presence with mazy, undulating 
dance, as if rejoicing in the glittering wealth of jewelry she 
gave. At such an hour, beyond all others, does nature 
seem to be filled with an inward, hidden life ; in serious and 
beseeching tones, she seems to say, " Lo I reveal unto you 
a great mystery, lying at the foundation of all being. I 
speak it in all tones, I write it in all colours. When will 
the mortal arise who understands my language ?" And a 
sacred voice answers, " When His will is done on earthy 
as it is done in heaven.^^ In the midst of such communion, 
the soul feels that 

*' This visible nature and this common world, 
Is all too narrow." 

Wings wave in the air, voices speak through the sea, and 
the rustling trees are whispering spirits. It was this yearn- 
ing after the spiritual that pervades all things, whose pre- 
sence, never found, is constantly revealed in so many 
echoes — it is this dim longing, which of old "peopled space 
with life and mystical predominance ;" this filled the grove 
with dryads, the waves with nymphs, the earth wiih fairies, 
the sky with angels. The external and the sensual call 
this the ravings of Imagination ; and they know not that 
she is the priestess of high Truth. 

All this I did not think of, as I leaned over the waters of 
Castle Garden ; but this, and far more, was spoken into 
my hea7't ; and I shall find it all recorded in rainbow let- 
ters, on my journal there beyond. 

In such listening mood, when the outward lay before me, 
in hieroglyphic symbols of a volume so infinite, I turned 
with a feeling of sadness toward a painted representation 
of Vera Cruz, which the bill proclaimed was to be taken 



FROM NEW-YORK. 155 

by the French fleet that evening, for the amusement of 
spectators. The imitation of a distant city was certainly 
good, speaking according to the theatrical standard : but it 
seemed to me desecration, that Art should thus intrude 
her delusions into the sanctuary of Nature. In a mood 
less elevated, I might have scorned her pretensions, with a 
proud impatience ; but as it was, I simply felt sad at the 
incongruity. I looked at the moon in her serene beauty, 
at the little boats, here floating across the veil of silver 
blonde, which she had thrown over the dancing waves, and 
there, with lanterns, gliding like fire-flies among the deep 
distant shadows; and I said if Art ventures into this pre- 
sence, let her come only as the Greek Diana, or marble 
nymph sleeping on her urn. 

But Art revenged herself for the slight estimation in 
which I held her. She could not satisfy me with beauty 
harmonious with Nature ; but she charmed with the bril- 
liancy of contrast. Opposite me I saw a light mildly 
splendid, as if seen through an atmosphere of motionless 
water. It had a fairy look, and I could not otherwise than 
observe it, from time to time, though the moonbeams played 
so gracefully and still. Anon, with a whizzing sound, it 
became a wheel of fire ; then it changed to a hexagon, set 
with emeralds, topaz, and rubies ; then circles of orange, 
white, and crimson light revolved swiftly round a resplend- 
ent centre of amethyst ; then it became (lowers made of 
gems ; and after manifold changes of unexpected beauty, it 
revolved a large star, set with jewels of all rainbow hues, 
over which there fell a continual fountain of golden rain. 
It was called the kaleidescope ; and its fairy splendour fur 
exceeded anything I ever imagined of fireworks. I asked 
pardon of insulted Art, and thanked ^sr, too, for the pleasure 
she had given me. 

I turned again to moonlight and silence, and my happy 
spirit carried no discord there. Even when I thought of 



156 LETTERS 

returning to the hot and crowded city, I said, '* This too 
will I do in cheerfulness. I will learn of Nature to love 
all, and do all." Slowly, and with loving reluctance, we 
turned away from the moon-lighted waters ; then came 
across the waves the liquid melody of a flute ; it called us 
back with such friendly, sweet intreaty, that we could not 
otherwise than stop to listen to its last silvery cadence. 
Again we turned away, and had nearly made our escape, 
when an accordion from a distant boat, in softened accents 
begged us still to linger. Then a band on board ihe newly- 
arrived French frigate struck up the Cracovienne, the 
expressive dance of Poland, bringing with it images of ro- 
mantic grace, and strange, deep thoughts of the destiny of 
nations. — We lingered and lingered. Nature and Art 
seemed to have conspired that night to do their best to 
please us. At last, the sounds died away ; and stepping 
to their echo in our memorfes, we passed out ; the iron gate 
of the Battery clanked behind us ; the streets reared their 
brick walls between us and the loveliness of earth and hea- 
ven. But they could not shut it out ; for it had passed into 
our souls. 

You will smile, and say the amount of all this romancing 
is a confession that I was a tired and wayward child, need- 
ing moonlight and a show to restore my serenity. And 
what of that ? If I am not too perfect to be in a wayward 
humour, I surely will not be too dignified to tell of it. I 
say, as Bettine does to Gunderode : " How glad I am to be 
so insignificant. I need not fork up discreet thoughts when 
I write to thee, but just narrate how things are. Once I 
thought I must not write unless I could give importance to 
the letter by a bit of moral, or some discreet thought ; now 
I think not to chisel out, or glue together my thoughts. 
Let others do that. If I must write so, I cannot think.'* 



FROM NEW-YORK. 167 



LETTER XXV. 

August 4, 1842. 

Last week, for a single day, I hid myself in the green 
sanctuary of Nature ; and from the rising of the sun till the 
going down of the moon, took no more thought of cities, 
than if such excrescences never existed on the surface of 
the globe. A huge wagon, traversing our streets, under 
the midsummer sun, bearing in immense letters, the words, 
Ice from Rockland Lake, had frequently attracted my 
attention, and become associated with images of freshness 
and romantic beauty. Therefore, in seeking the country 
for a day, I said our course should be up the Hudson, to 
Rockland Lake. The noontide sun was scorching, and our 
heads were dizzy with the motion of the boat ; but these 
inconviences, so irksome at the moment, are faintly traced 
on the tablet of memory. She engraves only the beautiful 
in lasting characters ; for beauty alone is immortal and di- 
vine. 

We stopped at Piermont, on the widest part of Tappan 

bay, where the Hudson extends itself to the width of three 

miles. On the opposite side, in full view from the Hotel, 

is Tarrytown, where poor Andre was captured. Tradition 

says, that a very large white-wood tree, under which he 

was taken, was struck by lightning, on the very day that 

news of Arnold's death was received at Tarrytown. As I 

sat gazing on the opposite woods, dark in the shadows of 

moonlight. I thought upon how very slight a circumstance 

often depends the fate of individuals, and the destiny of 

nations. In the autumn of 1730, a farmer chanced to be 

making cider at a mill, on the east bank of the Hudson, 

near thai part of Haverstraw Bay, called " Mother's Lap." 

Two young men, carrying muskets, as usual in thoso 



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troubled times, stopped for a draught of sweet cider, and 
seated themselves on a log to wait for it. The farmer found 
them looking very intently on some distant object, and in- 
quired what they saw. " Hush ! hush !" they replied ; 
*' The red coats are yonder, just within the Lap," pointing 
to an English gun boat, with twenty-four men, lying on 
their oars. Behind the shelter of a rock they fired into the 
boat, and killed two persons. The British, returned a 
random shot ; but ignorant of the number of their opponents, 
and seeincr that it was useless to waste ammunition on a 
hidden foe, they returned whence they came, with all pos- 
sible speed. This boat had been sent to convey Major 
Andre to the British sloop of- war, Vulture, then lying at 
anchor off Teller's point. Shortly after, Andre arrived, 
and finding the boat gone, he, in attempting to proceed 
through the interior, was captured. Had not those men 
stopped to drink sweet cider, it is probable that Andre 
would not have been hung ; the American revolution might 
have terminated in quite different fashion ; men now deified 
as heroes, might have been handed down to posterity as 
traitors ; our citizens might be proud of claiming descent from 
tories ; and slavery have been abolished eight years ago, 
by virtue of our being British colonies. So much may de- 
pend on a draught of cider ! But would England herself 
have abolished slavery, had it not been for the impulse given 
to free principles by the American revolution ? Probably 
not. It is not easy to calculate the consequences involved 
even in a draught of cider ; for no fact stands alone ; each 
has infinite relations. 

A very pleasant ride at sunset brought us to Orangetown, 
to the lone field where Major Andre was executed. It is 
planted with potatoes, but the plough spares the spot on which 
was once his gallows and his grave. A rude heap of stones^ 
with the remains of a dead fir tree in the midst, are all that 
mark it ; but tree and stones are covered with names. It 



FROM NEW-YORK. 169 

is on an eminence, commanding a view of the country for 
miles. I gazed on the surrounding woods, and remembered 
that on this selfsame spot, the beautiful and accomQJished 
young man walked back and forth, a few minutes preced- 
ing his execution, taking an earnest farewell look of earth and 
sky. My heart was sad within me. Our guide pointed to 
a house in full view, at half a mile's distance, which he 
told us was at that time the head-quarters of General Wash- 
ington. I turned my back suddenly upon it. The last 
place on earth where I would wish to think of Washington, 
is at the grave of Andre. I know that military men not 
only sanction, but applaud the deed ; and reasoning accord- 
ing to the maxims of war, I am well aware how much can 
be said in its defence. That Washinijton considered it a 
duty, the discharge of which was most painful to him, I 
doubt not. But, thank God, the instincts of my childhood 
are unvitiated by any such maxims. From the first hour I 
read of the dead, until the present day, I never did, and 
never could, look upon it as otherwise than cool, deliberate 
murder. That the theory and practice of war commends 
the transaction, only serves to prove the infernal nature of 
war itself. 

Milton (stern moralist as he was, in many respects) 
maintains, in his *' Christian Doctrine,'* that falsehoods are 
sometimes not only allowable, but necessary. " It is 
scarcely possible," says he, " to execute any of the arti- 
fices of war without openly uttering the greatest untruths, 
with the undisputable intention of deceiving.'' And because 
war requires lies, we are told by a Christian moralist that 
lies must, therefore, be lawful ! It is observable that Milton 
is obliged to defend the necessity of falsehoods in the same 
way that fighting is defended ; he makes many references 
to the Jewish scriptures, but none to the Christian. Hav- 
ing established his position, that wilful, deliberate decep- 
tion was a necessary ingredient of war, it is strange, in- 



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deed, that his enlightened mind did not at once draw the 
inference that war itself must be evil. It would have been 
so, had not the instincts of heart and conscience been per- 
verted by the maxims of men, and the customs of that fierce 
period. 

The soul may be brought into military drill service, like 
the limbs of the body ; and such a one, perchance, might 
stand on Andre's grave, and glory in his capture ; but I 
would rather suffer his inglorious death, than attain to such 
a state of mind. 

A few years ago, the Duke of York requested the British 
consul to send the remains of Major Andre to England. 
At that time, two thriving firs were found near the grave, 
and a peach tree, which a lady in the neighbourhood had 
planted there, in the kindness of her heart. The farmers, 
who came to witness the interesting ceremony, generally 
evinced the most respectftil tenderness for the memory of 
the unfortunate dead ; and many of the women and children 
wept. A few loafers, educated by militia trainings, and 
Fourth of July declamation, begun to murmur that the 
memory of General Washington was insulted by any re- 
spect shown to the remains of Andre ; but the offer of a 
treat lured them to the tavern, where they soon became too 
drunk to guard the character of Washington. It was a 
beautiful day : and these disturbing spirits being removed, 
the impressive ceremony proceeded in solemn silence. The 
coffin was in good preservation, and contained all the 
bones, with a small quantity of dust. The roots of the 
peach tree had entirely interwoven the skull with their fine 
network. His hair, so much praised for its uncommon 
beauty, was tied, on the day of his execution, according 
to the fashion of the times. When his grave was opened, 
half a century afterward, the ribbon was found in perfect 
preservation, and sent to his sister in England. When it 
was known that the sarcophagus, containing his remains, 



FROM NEW- YORK. 161 

had arrived in New- York, on its way to London, many- 
ladies sent garlands, and emblematic devices., to be wreath- 
ed around it, in memory of the '* beloved and lamented 
Andre." In their compassionate hearts, the teachings of 
nature were unperverted by maxims of war, or that selfish 
jealousy, which dignifies itself with the name of patriotism. 
Blessed be God, that custom forbids women to electioneer 
or fight. May the sentiment remain, till war and politics 
have passed away. Had not women and children been 
kept free from their polluting influence, the medium of com- 
munication between earth and heaven would have been 
completely cut off. 

At the foot of the eminence where the jjallows had been 
erected, we found an old Dutch farmhouse, occupied by a 
man who witnessed the execution, and whose father often 
sold peaches to the unhappy prisoner. He confirmed the 
accounts of Andre's uncommon personal beauty ; and had a 
vivid remembrance of the pale, but calm, heroism with 
which he met his untimely death. Everything about this 
dwelling was antiquated. Two prim pictures of George III. 
and his homely queen, taken at the period when we owed 
allegiance to them, as " the government ordained of God,'' 
marked plainly the progress of Art since that period ; for 
the portraits of Victoria on our cotton-spools, are graceful 
in comparison. An ancient clock, which has ticked unin- 
terrupted good time on the same ground for more than a 
hundred years, stood in one corner of the little parlour. It 
was brought from the East Indies, by an old Dutch sea 
captain, great grandfather of the present owner. In those 
nations, where vpinions are transmitted unchanged, the 
outward forms and symbols of thought remain so likewise. 
The gilded figures, which entirely cover the body of this 
old clock, are precisely the same, in perspective, outline, 
and expression, as East India figures of the present day. 
My observations, as a traveller, are limited to a very small 



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portion of the new world ; and therefore, it has never been 
my lot to visit scenes so decidedly bearing the impress of 
former days, as this Dutch county. 

" Life, on a soil inhabited in olden time, and once glori- 
ous in its industry, activity, and attachment to noble pur- 
suits, has a peculiar charm," says Novalis. " Nature seems 
to have become there more human, more rational ; a dim re- 
membrance throws back, through the transparent present, 
the images of the world in marked outline ; and thus you 
enjoy a two-fold world, purged by this very process from 
the rude and disagreeable, and made the magic poetry and 
fable of the mind. Who knows whether also an indefinable 
influence of the former inhabitants, now departed, does not 
conspire to this end ?" 

The solemn impression, so eloquently described by No- 
valis, is what I have desired above all things to experience ; 
but the times seen through " the transparent present" of 
these thatched farm-houses, and that red Dutch church, are 
not far enough in the distance ; far removed from us, it is 
true ; but still farther from mitred priest, crusading knight, 
and graceful troubadour. " An indefinable influence of the 
former inhabitants," is indeed most visible ; but then it needs 
no ghost to tell us that these inhabitants were thoroughly 
Dutch. Since the New-York and Erie railroad passed 
through their midst, careful observers say, that the surface 
of the stagnant social pool begins to ripple, in very small 
whirlpools, as if an insect stirred the vi^aters. But before 
that period, a century produced no visible change in 
theology, agriculture, dress, or cooking. They were the 
very type of conservatism ; immoveable in the midst of in- 
cessant change. The same family live on the same home, 
stead, generation after generation. Brothers married, and 
came home to father's to live, so long as the old house 
would contain wives and swarming children ; and when house 
and barn were both overrun, a new tenement, of the self- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 163 

same construction, was put up, within stone's throw. To sell 
an acre of land received from their fathers, would be down- 
right desecration. It is now literally impossible for astranger 
to buy of them at any price. A mother might be coaxed to 
sell her babies, as easily as they to sell their farms. Con- 
sider what consternation such a people must have been in, 
when informed that the New-York, and Erie railroad was 
to be cut straight through their beloved, hereditary acres ! 
They swore, by " donner and blitzen," that not a rail should 
ever be laid on their premises. The railroad company, 
however, by aid of chancery, compelled them to acquiesce ; 
and their grief was really pitiful to behold. Neighbours 
went to each others' " stoops," to spend a social evening ; 
and, as their wont had ever been, they sat and smoked at 
each other, without the unprofitable interruption of a single 
word of conversation : but not according to custom, they now 
grasped each other's hands tightly at parting, and tears 
rolled down their weather-beaten cheeks. The iron of 
the railroad had entered their souls. And well it might ; 
for it not only divided orchards, pastures, and gardens; 
but, in many instances, cut right through the old home- 
steads. Clocks that didn't know how to tick, except on the 
sinking floor where they had stood for years, were now 
removed to other premises, and went mute with sorrow. 
Heavy old tables, that hadn't stirred one of their countless 
legs for half a century, were now compelled to budge : and 
potatoes, whose grandfathers and great grandfathers had slept 
together in the same bed, were now removed beyond nod- 
ding distance. Joking apart, it was a cruel case. The 
women and children wept, and some of the old settlers 
actully died of a broken heart. Several years have elaps- 
ed since the fire king first went whizzing through on his 
wings of steam; but the Dutch farmers have not yet learned 
to look on him without a muttered curse ; with fear and 
trembling, they guide their sleek horses and slow-and sure 



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wagons over the crossings, expecting, every instant, to be 
reduced to impalpable powder. 

Poor old men ! what will they say when railroads are 
carried through all their old seed-fields of opinion, theologi- 
cal and political ? As yet, there are no twilight fore-shadow- 
ings of such possibilities ; but assuredly, the day will come, 
when ideas, like potatoes, will not be allowed to sprout up 
peaceably in the same hillock where their venerable pro- 
genitors vegetated from time immemorial. 

As yet, no rival spires here point to the same heaven. 
There stands the Dutch Reformed Church, with its red 
body, and low white tower, just where stood the small 
stone church, in which Major Andre was tried and sentenced. 
The modern church (I mean the building) is larger than 
the one of olden time ; but creed and customs, somewhat 
of the sternest, have not changed one hair's breadth. I 
thought of this, as I looked at the unsightly edifice ; and 
suddenly there rose up before me the image of some of our 
modern disturbers, stalking in among these worshipping 
antediluvians, and pricking their ears with the astounding 
intelligence, that they were " a den of thieves," and " a 
hill of hell." 'Tis a misfortune to have an imagination too 
vivid. I cannot think of that red Dutch church, without a 
crowd of images that make me laugh till the tears come. 

Not far from the church is a small stone building, used 
as a tavern. Here they showed me the identical room 
where Andre was imprisoned. With the exception of new 
plastering, it remains the same as then. It is long, low, 
and narrow, and being without furniture or fireplace, it still 
has rather a jail-like look. I was sorry for the new plaster- 
ing ; for I hoped to find some record of prison thoughts cut 
in the walls. Two doves were cuddled together on a 
bench in one corner, and looked in somewhat melancholy 
mood. These mates were all alone in that silent apart- 
ment, where Andre shed bitter tears over the miniature of 



FROM NEW-YORK. 165 

his beloved. Alas for mated human hearts ! This world 
is too often for them a pilgrimage of sorrow. 

The miniature, which Andre made such strong efforts to 
preserve, when everything else was taken from him, and 
which he carried next his heait till the last fatal moment, 
is generally supposed to have been a likeness of the beauti- 
ful, graceful, and highly-gifted Honora Sneyd, who married 
Richard Lovel Edge worth, and thus became step-mother 
to the celebrated Maria Edgeworih. A strong youthful 
attachment existed between her and Major Andre ; but for 
some reason or other they separated. He entered the 
army, and died the death of a felon. Was he a felon ? 
No. He was generous, kind, and brave. His noble nature 
was perverted by the maxims of war ; but the act he com- 
mitted for the British army was what an American officer 
would have gloried in doing for his own. Washington 
emploijei spies ; nor is it probable that he, or any ether 
military commander, would have hesitated to become one, 
if by so doing so he could get the enemy completely into 
his power. It is not therefore a sense of justice, but a 
wish to inspire terror, which leads to the execution of spies. 
War is a game, in which the devil plays at nine-pins with 
the souls of men. 

Early the next morning, we rose before the sun, and took 
a wagon ride, of ten miles, to Rockland Lake. The road 
was exceedingly romantic. On one side, high, precipitous 
hills, covered with luxuriant foliage, or rising in perpendi- 
cular masses of stone, singularly like the fa9ade of some 
ruined castle ; on the other side, almost near enough to dip 
our hands in its waters, flowed the broad Hudson, with a 
line of glittering light along its edge, announcing the com- 
ing sun. Our path lay straight over the high hills, full of 
rolling stones, and innumerable elbows ; for it went round 
about to avoid every rock, as a good, old-fashioned Dutch 
path should, in prophetic contempt of railroads. But all 



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around was verdure, abundance, andbrauty; and we could 
have been well content to wind round and round among 
those picturesque hills, like Peter Rugg, in his everlasting 
ride, had not the advancing sun given premonitory symptoms 
of the fiercest heat. We plainly saw that he was pulling 
the corn up by the hair of its head, and making the grass 
grow with a forty horse power. At last, the lake itself 
opened upon us, with whole troops of lilies. This pure 
sheet of water, more than a mile long, is inclosed by a 
most graceful sweep of hills, verdant with foliage, 
and dotted with golden grain. It is as beautiful a scene 
as my eye ever rested on. " A piece of heaven let 
fall to earth." At the farm where we lodged, a sum- 
mer house was placed on a verdant curve, which swell- 
ed out into the lake, as if a breeze had floated it there in 
play. There I sat all day long, too happy to talk Never 
did I thus throw myself on the bosom of Nature, as it were 
on the heart of my dearest friend. The cool rippling of the 
water, the whirring of a hummingbird, and the happy notes 
of some little warbler, tending her nest directly over our 
heads, was all that broke silence in that most beautiful 
temple. 

After a while, our landlord came among us. He had 
been a sailor, soldier, Indian doctor, and farmer ; but the 
incidents of his changing life had for him no deeper signifi- 
cance than the accumulation of money. 

I sighed, that man alone should be at discord with the 
harmony of nature. But the bird again piped a welcome 
to her young ; and no other false note intruded on the univer- 
sal hymn of earth, and air, and sky. 

At twilight, we took boat, and went paddling about among 
the shadows of the green hills. I wept when I gave a 
farewell look to Rockland Lake ; fur I h d no hope that I 
should ever again see her lovely face, or listen to her friend- 
ly voice; and none but Hin, who speaks through Nature, 



FROM NEW. YORK. 167 

can ever know what heavenly things she whispered in my 
ear, that happy summer s day. 



LETTER XXVI. 

September 1, 1842. 

From childhood, I have had a most absorbing passion 
for flowers. What unheard of quantities of moss and vio- 
lets have I trailed from their shady birthplace, to some little 
nook, which fate allowed me, for the time being, to call my 
home ! And then, how I have pitied the poor things, and 
feared they would not be so happy, as if I had left them 
alone. Yet flowers ever seemed to thrive with me, as if 
they knew I loved them. Perchance they did ; for invi- 
sible radii, inaudible language, go forth from the souls of 
all things. Nature ever sees and hears it ; as man would, 
were it not for his self-Usiening. 

The flowers have spoken to me more than I can tell in 
written words. They are the hieroglyphics of angels, 
loved by all men for the beauty of the character, though 
few can decypher even fragments of their meaning. Mine- 
rals, flowers, and birds, among a thousand other tri-une 
ideas, ever speak to me of the Past, the Present, and the 
Future. The Past, like minerals, with their flxed forms of 
gorgeous but unchanging beauty ; the Present, like flowers, 
growing and ever changing — bud, blossom, and seed-vessel 
— seed, bud, and blossom, in endless progression ; the 
Future, like birds, with winged aspirations, and a voice 
that sings into the clouds. Not separate are past, present, 
and future ; but one evolved from the other, like the con- 
tinuous, ever-rising line of the spiral : and not separate 
are minerals, vegetables, and animals. The same soul 
pervades them all ; they are but higher and higher types 



168 LETTERS 

of the self-same Ideas ; spirally they rise, one out of the 
other. Strike away one curve in the great growth of the 
universe, and the stars themselves would fall. Some 
glimpses of these arcana were revealed to the ancients; 
hence the spiral line occurs frequently among the sacred 
and mysterious emblems in their temples. 

There is an astronomical theory that this earth, by a suc- 
cession of spiral movements, is changing its position, until 
its poles will be brought into harmonious relation with the 
poles of the heavens ; then sunshine will equally over- 
spread the globe, and Spring become perpetual. I know 
not whether tb.is theory be correct ; but I think it is — for 
reasons not at all allied with astronomical knowledge. If 
the millenium, so long prophesied, ever comes, if the lion 
and the lamb ever lie down together within the souls of 
men, the outward world must likewise come into divine or- 
der, and the poles of the eanli will harmonize with the poles 
of the heavens ; then shall universal Spring reign without, 
the emblem and offspring of universal Peace within. 

Everywhere in creation, we find visible types of these 
ascending series. Everything is interlinked ; each reaches 
one hand upward and one downward, and touching palms, 
each is inlerclasped with all above and all below. Plainly 
is this truth written on the human soul, both in its indivi- 
dual and universal progress ; and thertjore it is inscribed 
on all nmterial forms. But yesterday, I saw a plant called 
the Crab Cactus, most sin<iularly like the animal from which 
it takes its name. ^ly companion said it was " a strange 
freak of Nature." But I knew it was no freak. I saw- 
that the cactus and the crab meant the same thing — one on a 
higher plane than the other. The singular plant was the 
point where fish and vegetable touched palms ; where 
the ascending spiral circles passed into each other. There 
is another Cactus that resembles the Sea Urchin ; and an- 
other, like the Star-fish, In fact, they all seem allied to 



FROM NEW. YORK. 169 

the crustaceous tribe of animals ; and from the idea, which 
tliis embodies, sprung the fancy that fairies of the earth 
sometimes formed strange union with merrows of the sea. 
Every fancy, the wildest and the strangest, is somewhere 
in the universe of God, a fact. 

Another indication of interlinking series is found in the 
zoophytes, the strangest of all links between the vegetable 
and animal world ; sometimes growing from a stem like a 
plant, and radiating like a blossom, yet devouring insects 
and digesting them, like an animal. Behold minerals in 
their dark mines ! how they strive toward efflorescence, 
in picturesque imitation of foliage and tendrils, and roots, 
and tangled vines. Such minerals are approaching the 
circle of creation that lies above them, and from which they 
receive their life ; mineral and vegetable here touch palms, 
and pass the electric fluid that pervades all life. 

As the approach of different planes in existence is in- 
dicated in forms, so is it in character and uses. Among 
minerals, the magnet points ever to the North ; so is there 
a plant in the prairies, called by travellers the Polar Plant, 
or Indian Compass, because the plane of its leaf points due 
North and South, without other variation than the tempora- 
ry ruffling of the breeze. 

If these secrets were clearly read, they might throvjr 
much light on the science of healing, and perhaps recon- 
cile the clashing claims of mineral and vegetable medi- 
cines. Doubtless every substance in Nature is an antidote 
to some physical evil ; owing to some spiritual cause, as 
fixed as the laws of mathematics, but not as easily perceiv- 
ed. The toad, when bitten by a spider, goes to the plan- 
tain leaf, and is cured ; the bird, when stung by the yellow 
serpent, flies to the Guaco plant, and is healed. If we 
knew what spiritual evil was represented by the spider's 
poison, and what spiritual good by the plantain leaf, we 
should probably see the mystery revealed. Good always 
8 



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overcomes the evil, which is its perverted form ; thus love 
casteth out hatred, truth overcomes falsehood, and suspi- 
cion cannot live before perfect frankness. Always and 
everywhere is evil overcome with good ; and because it is 
RO in the soul of man., it is and must be so in all the laws and 
operations of Nature. 

♦• There are influences yet unthought, and virtues, and many inventions, 
And uses, above and around, which man hath not yet regarded. 

There be virtues yet unknown in the wasted foliage of the elm, 

In the sun-dried harebell of the downs, and the hyacinth drinking in 

the meadows; 
In the sycamore's winged fruit, and the facet-cut cones of the cedar ; 
And the pansy and bright geranium live not alone for beauty, 
Nor the waxen flower of the arbutc, though it dieth in a day ; 
Nor the sculptured crest of the fir, unseen but by the stars ; 
And the meanest weed of the garden serveth unto many uses ; 
The salt tamarisk, and juicy flag, the freckled arum, and the daisy. 
For every green herb, from the lotus to the darnel, 
Is rich with delicate aids to help incurious man." 

" There is a final cause for the aromatic gum, that congealeth the moss 

around a rose ; 
A reason for each blade of grass, that reareth its small spire. 
How knoweth discontented man what a train of ills might follow, 
If the lowest menial of nature knew not her secret office ? 
In the perfect circle of creation not an atom could be spared, 
From earth's magnetic zone to the bindweed round a hawthorn. 
The briar and the palm have the wages of hfe, rendering secret service." 

I did not intend to write thus mystically ; and I feel that 
these are thoughts that shoidd be spoken into your private 
ear, not published to the world. To some few they may, 
perchance, awaken a series of aspiring thoughts, till the 
highest touch the golden harps of heaven, and fill the world 
■with celestial echoes. But to most they will seem an am- 
bitious attempt to write something, which is in fact nothing. 
Be it so. I have spoken in a language which few under- 
stand, and none can teach or learn. It writes itself in sun- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 171 

beams, on flowers, gems, and an infinity of forms. I know 
it at a glance ; but 1 learned it in no school. When I go 
home and shut the door, it speaks to me, as if it were a 
voice ; but amid the multitude, the sound is hushed. 

This which people call the real world, is not real to me ; 
all its sights seem to me shadows, all its sounds echoes. I 
live at service in it, and sweep dead leaves out of paths, 
and dust mirrors, and do errands, as I am bid ; but glad am 
I when work is done, to go home to rest. Then do I enter 
a golden palace, with light let in only from above ; and all 
forms of beauty are on the walls, from the seraph before 
God's throne, to the rose-tinted shell on the sea-shore. 

I strove not to speak in mysticism ; audio, here I am, as 
the Germans would say, "up in the blue" again. 1 know 
not how it is, my thoughts to-day are like birds of paradise ; 
they have no feet, and will not light on earth. 

I began to write about flowers with the utmost simplicity ; 
not meaning to twine of them a spiral ladder of garlands 
from earth to heaven. The whole fabric arose from my 
looking into the blue eyes of my German Forget-me-not, 
which seems so much like a babe just wakening from a 
pleasant dream. Then my heart blessed flowers from its 
inmost depths. I thought of the beautiful story of the 
Italian child laid on the bed of death with a wreath among 
his golden ringlets, and a bouquet in his little cold hand. 
They had decked him thus for the angels ; but when they 
went to place him in his cofiin, lo, the little cherub was 
sitting up playing with the flowers. 

How the universal heart of man blesses flowers ! They 
are wreathed round the cradle, the marriage altar, and the 
tomb. The Persian in the far East, delights in their per- 
fume, and writes his love in nosegays ; while the Indian 
child of the far west clasps his hands with glee, as he 
gathers the abundant blossoms — the illuminated scripture 
of the prairies. The Cupid of the ancient Hindoos tipped 



173 LETTERS 

his arrows with flowers, and orange buds are the bridal 
crown with us, a nation of yesterday. Flowers garlanded 
the Grecian altar, and they hang in votive wreaths before 
the Christian shrine. 

All these are appropriate uses. Flowers should deck 
the brow of the youthful bride, for they are in themselves a 
lovely tvpe of marriage. They should twine round the 
tomb, for their perpetually renewed beauty is a symbol of 
the resurrection. They should festoon the altar, for their 
fragrance and their beauty ascend in perpetual worship be- 
fore the Most High. 



LETTER XXVII. 

September 8, 1842. 

It is curious to observe by what laws ideas are associated; 
how, from the tiniest seed of thought, rises the umbrageous 
tree, with moss about its foot, blossoms on its head, and 
birds among its branches. Reading my last letter, con- 
cerning the spiral series of the universe, some busy little 
spirit suggested that there should, somewhere in creation, 
be a flower that made music. But I said, do they not all 
make melody 1 The Persians write their music in colours ; 
and perchance, in the arrangement of flowers, angels may 
perceive songs and anthems. The close relationship be- 
tween light and music has been more or less dimly per- 
ceived by the human mind everywhere. The Persian, 
when he gave to each note a colour, probably embodied a 
greater mystery than he understood. The same undefined 
perception makes us talk of the harmony oi coXoms, and the 
tone of a picture ; it led the blind man to say that his idea 
of red was like the sound of a trumpet ; and it taught Festus 
to speak of" a rainbow of sweet sounds." John S. D wight 



FROM NEW-YORK. 173 

was inspired with the same idea, when he eloquently de- 
scribed music as " a prophecy of what life is to be ; the 
rainbow of promise, translated out of seeing into hearing" 

But I must not trust myself to trace the beautiful analogy 
between light and music. As I muse upon it, it is like an 
opening between clouds, so transparent, and so deep, denp, 
that it seems as if one could see through it beyond the far- 
thest star — if one could but gaze long and earnestly enough. 

"Every flower writes music on the air ;" and every tree 
that grows enshrines a tone within its heart. Do you 
doubt it? Try the willow and the oak, the elm and the 
poplar, and see whether each has not its own peculiar 
sound, waiting only for the master's hand to make them 
discourse sweet music. One of the most remarkable in- 
struments ever invented gives proof of this. M. Guzikow 
was a Polish Jew ; a shepherd in the service of a noble- 
man. From earliest childhood, music seemed to pervade 
his whole being. As he tended his flocks in the loneliness 
of the fields, he was for ever fashioning flutes and reeds 
from the trees that grew around him. He soon observ^ed 
that the tone of the flute varied according to the wood he 
used ; by degrees he came to know every tree by its sound ; 
and the forests stood round him a silent oratorio. The skill 
with which he played on his rustic flutes attracted atten- 
tion. The nobility invited him to their houses, and he be- 
came a favourite of fortune. Men never grew weary of 
hearing him. But soon it was perceived that he was pour- 
ing forth the fountains of his life in song. Physicians said 
he must abjure the flute, or die. It was a dreadful sacri- 
fice ; for music to him was life. His old familiarity with 
tones of the forest came to his aid. He took four round 
sticks of wood, and bound them closely together with bands 
of straw ; across these he arranged numerous pieces of 
round, smooth wood, of difl^erent kinds. They were arrang- 
ed irregularly to the eye, though harmoniously to the ear ; 



174 LETTERS 

for some jutted beyond the straw-bound foundation at one 
end, and some at the other ; in and out, in apparent confu- 
sion. The whole was lashed together with twine, as 
men would fasten a raft. This was laid on a common ta- 
ble, and struck with two small ebony sticks. Rude as the 
instrument appeared, Guzikow brought from it such rich and 
liquid melody, that it seemed to take the heart of man on 
its wings, and bear it aloft to the throne of God. They 
who have heard it, describe it as far exceeding even the 
miraculous warblings of Paganini's violin. The emperor 
of Austria heard it, and forthwith took the Polish peasant 
into his own especial service. In some of the large cities, 
he now and then gave a concert, by royal permission ; and 
on such an occasion he was heard by a friend of mine at 
Hamburg. 

The countenance of the musician was very pale and 
haggard, and his large dark eyes wildly expressive. He 
covered his head, according to the custom of the Jews ; 
but the small cap of black velvet was not to be distinguish- 
ed in colour from the jet black hair that fell from under it, 
and flowed over his shoulders in glossy, natural ringlets. 
He wore the costume of his people, an ample robe, that 
fell about him in graceful folds. From head to foot all was 
black, as his own hair and eyes, relieved only by the burn- 
ing brilliancy of a diamond on his breast. The butter- 
flies of fashion were of course attracted by the unusual and 
poetic beauty of his appearance ; and ringlets a la Guzi- 
kow were the order of the day. 

Before this singularly gifted being stood a common wood- 
en table, on which reposed his rude-looking invention. 
He touched it with the ebony sticks. At first you heard a 
sound as of wood ; the orchestra rose higher and higher, 
till it drowned its voice : then gradually subsiding, the 
wonderful instrument rose above other sounds, clear- warb- 
ling, like a nightingale ; the orchestra rose higher, like the 



FROM NEW-YORK. 175 

coming of the breeze — but above them all, swelled the 
sweet tones of the magic instrument, rich, liquid, and strong, 
like a sky-lark piercing the heavens ! They who heard it 
listened in deliorhied wonder, that the trees could be made 
to speak thus under the touch of genius. 

There is something pleasant to my imagination in the 
fact that every tree has its own peculiar note, and is a per- 
former in the great concert of the universe, which for ever 
rises before the throne of Jehovah. But when the idea is 
applied to man, it is painful in the extreme. The emperor 
of Russia is said to have an imperial band, in which each 
man is doomed all his life long to sound one note, that he 
may acquire the greatest possible perfection. The effect 
of the whole is said to be admirable ; but nothing would 
tempt me to hear this human musical machine. A tree is 
a unit in creation ; though, like everything else, it stands 
in relation to all things. But every human soul represents 
the universe. There is horrible profanation in compelling 
a living spirit to utter but one note. Theological sects 
strive to do this continually ; for they are sects because 
they magnify some one attribute of deity, or see but one 
aspect of the divine government. To me, their fragmen- 
tary echoes are most discordant ; but doubtless the angels 
listen to them as a whole, and perhaps they hear a pleasant 
chorus. 

Music, whether I listen to it, or try to analyse it, ever 
fills me with thoughts which I cannot express — because 
I cannot sing; for nothing but music can express the emo- 
tions to which it gives birth. Language, even the richest 
flow of metaphor, is too poor to do it. That the universe 
moves to music, I have no doubt ; and could I but pene- 
trate this mystery, where the finite passes into the infinite, 
I should surely know how the world was created. Pytha- 
goras supposed that the heavenly bodies, in their motion, 
produced music inaudible to mortal ears. These motions 



176 LETTERS 

he believed conformed to certain fixed laws, that could be 
stated in numbers, corresponding to the numbers which ex- 
press the harmony of sounds. This " music of the spheres" 
has been considered an idea altogether fanciful ; but the 
immortal Kepler applied the Pythagorean theory of num- 
bers, and musical intervals, to the distances of the planets ; 
and a long time after, Newton discovered and acknowledged 
the importance of the application. Said I not that the uni- 
verse moved to music? The planets dance before Jeho- 
vah ; and music is the echo of their motions. Surely the 
ear of Beethoven had listened to it, when he wrote those 
misnamed " waltzes" of his, which, as John S. Dwight says, 
" remind us of no dance, unless it be the dances of the hea- 
venly systems in their sublime career through space." 

Have you ever seen Retszch's illustration of Schiller's 
Song of a Bell 1 If you have, and know how to appreci- 
ate its speaking gracefulness, its earnest depth of life, you 
are richer than Rothschild or Aslor ; for a vision of beauty 
is an everlasting inheritance. Perhaps none but a German, 
would have thus entwined the sound of a bell with the 
whole of human life ; for with them the bell mingles wiih 
all of mirth, sorrow, and worship. Almost all the German 
and Belgian towns are provided with chiming bells, which 
play at noon and evening. There was such a set of mu- 
sical bells on the church of St. Nicholas, at Hamburjr. 
The bell-player was a gray-headed man, who had for many 
years rung forth the sonorous chimes, that told the hours 
to the busy throng below. When the church was on fire, 
either from infirmity, or want of thought, the old man re- 
mained at his post. In the terrible confusion of the blazing 
city, no one thought of him, till the high steeple was seen 
wreathed with flame. As the throng gazed upward, the 
firm walls of the old church, that had stood for ages, began to 
shake. At that moment the bells sounded the well-known 
German Choral, which usually concludes the Protestant 



FROM NEW-YORK. 177 

service, " Nun danket alle Gott" — <' Now all thank God." 
Another moment, and there was an awful crash! The 
bells, which had spoken into the hearts of so many genera- 
tions, went silent for ever. They and ihe old musician sunk 
together into a fiery grave ; but the echo of their chimes 
goes sounding on through the far eternity. 

They have a beautiful custom at Hamburg. At ten o'clock 
in the morning, when men are hurrying hither and yon 
in the great whirlpool of business, from the high church 
tower comes down the sound of sacred music, from a large 
and powerful horn appropriated to that service. It is as if 
an angel spake from the clouds, reminding them of immor- 
tality. 

You have doubtless heard of the mysterious music that 
peals over the bay at West Pascagoula. It has for a long 
time been one of the greatest wonders of the Southwest. 
Multitudes have heard it, rising as it were from the water, 
like the drone of a bagpipe, then floating away — away — 
away — in the distance — soft, plaintive, and fairy-like, as if 
iEolian harps sounded with richer melody through the 
liquid element ; but none have been able to account for the 
beautiful phenomenon. 

" There are several legends touching these mysterious 
sounds. One of them relates to the extinction of the Pas- 
cagoula tribe of Indians ; the remnant of which, many years 
ago, it is said, deliberately entered the waters of the bay 
and drowned themselves, to escape capture and torture, 
when attacked by a neighbouring formidable tribe. There 
is another legend, as well authenticated as traditionary his- 
tory can well be, to the efiect, that about one hundred years 
ago, three families of Spaniards, who had provoked the re- 
sentment of the Indians, were beset by the sava;^es, and 
to avoid massacre and pollution, marched into the bay, and 
were drowned — men, women, and children. Tradition 
adds, that the Spaniards went down to the waters following 
8* 



178 LETTERS 

a drum and pipe, and singing, as enthusiasts are said to do, 
when about to commit self-immolation. Slaves in the 
neighbourhood believe that ihe sounds, which sweep with 
mournful cadence over the bay, are uttered by the spirits 
of those hapless families; nor will any remonstrance against 
the superstition abate their terror, when the wailing is 
heard." Formerly, neither threats nor blows could induce 
them to venture out after night ; and to this day, it is exceed- 
ingly difficult to induce one of them to go in a boat alone 
upon the quiet waters of Pascagoula Bay. One of them, 
being asked by a recent traveller what he thought occa- 
sioned that music, replied : 

" Wall, I tinks it's dead folks come back agin ; dat's 
what I does. White people say it's dis ting and dat ting ; 
but it's noting, massa, but de ghosts of people vvat didn't die 
nat'rally in dere beds, longtime ago — Indians or Spaniards, 
I believes dey was." 

♦' But does the music never frighten you ?" 

*' Well, it does. Sometimes wen I'se out alone on de 
bay in a skiff, and I hears it about, I always finds myself 
in a perspiration ; and de way I works my way home, is of 
de fastest kind. I declare, de way I'se frightened some- 
times, is so bad, I doesn't know myself.'^ 

But in these days, few things are allowed to remain mys- 
terious. A correspondent of the Baltimore Republican 
thus explains the music of the water-spirits : 

*' During several of my voyages on the Spanish main, in 
the neighbourhood of ' Paraguay,' and San Juan de Nica- 
ragua, from the nature of the coast, we were compelled to 
anchor at a considerable distance from the shore ; and 
every evening, from dark to late night, our ears were de- 
lighted with iEolian music, that could be heard beneath the 
counter of our schooner. At first, I thought it was the sea- 
breeze sweeping through the strings of my violin, (the 
bridge of which 1 had inadvertently left standing ;) but af. 



FR O M N E W.YORIC. 179 

ter examination, I found it was not so. I then placed m) 
ear on the rail of the vessel, when I was continually charm- 
ed with the most heavenly strains that ever fell upon my 
ear. They did not sound as close to us, but were sweet, 
mellow, and aerial ; like the soft breathings of a thousand 
lutes, touched by fingers of the deep sea-nymphs, at an im- 
mense distance. 

" Although I have considerable * music in my soul,' one 
night I became tired, and determined to fish. My luck in 
half an hour was astonishing ; I had half filled my bucket 
with the finest white cat-fish I ever saw ; and it being late, 
and the .cook asleep, and the moon shining, I filled my 
bucket with water, and took fish and all into my cabin for 
the night. 

*' I had not yet fallen asleep, when the same sweet notes 
fell upon my ear ; and getting up, what was my surprise 
to find my ♦ cat fish' discoursing sweet sounds to the sides 
of my bucket. 

"1 examined them closely, and discovered that there was 
attached to each lower lip an excrescence, divided by soft, 
wiry fibres. By the pressure of the upper lip thereon, 
and by the exhalation and discharge of breath, a vibration 
was created, similar to that produced by the breath on the 
tongue of the jew's-harp.'' 

So you see the Naiads have a band to dance by. I 
should like to have the mocking bird try his skill at imita- 
ting this submarine melody. You know the Bobo'link 
with his inimitable strain of *' linked sweetness, long drawn 
out ?" At a farm-house occupied by my falher-in-law, one 
of these rich warblers came and seated himself on a rail 
near the window, and began to sing. A cat-bird (our New 
England mockingbird) perched near, and began to imitate 
the notes. The short, quick, " bob-a-link," " bob-a-link," 
he could master very well ; but when it came to the pro- 
longed trill of gushing melody, at the close of the strain — 



180 LETTERS 

tlie imitator stopped in the midst. Again the bob-o'-link 
poured forth his soul in song; the mocking-bird hopped 
nearer, and listened most intently. Again he tried ; but it 
was all in vain. The bob-o'-link, as if conscious that none 
could imitate his God-given tune, sent forth a clearer, 
stronger, richer strain than ever. The mocking bird evi- 
dently felt that his reputation was at slake. He warbled 
all kinds of notes in quick succession. You would have 
thought the house was surrounded by robins, sparrows, 
whippowills, black-birds, and linnets. Having shown off 
his accomplishments, ho again tried his powers on the all- 
together inimitable trill. The effort he made was prodi- 
gious ; but it was mere talent trying to copy genius. He 
couldn't do it. He stopped, gasping, in the midst of the 
prolonged melody, and flew away abruptly, in evident vexa- 
tion. 

Music, like everything else, is now passing from the 
few to the many. The art of printing has laid before the 
multitude the written wisdom of ages, once locked up in 
the elaborate manuscripts of the cloister. Engraving and 
daguerreotype spread the productions of the pencil before 
the whole people. Music is taught in our common schools, 
and the cheap accordion brings its delights to the humblest 
class of citizens. All these things are full of prophecy. 
Slowly, slowly, to the measured sound of the spirit's mu- 
sic, there goes round the world the golden band of brother- 
hood ; slowly, slowly, the earth comes to its place, and 
makes a chord with heaven. 

Sing on, thou true-hearted, and be not discouraged! If 
a harp be in perfect tune, and a flute, or other instrument 
of music, be near it, and in perfect tune also, thou canst 
not play on one without wakening an answer from the 
other. Behold, thdu shalt hear its sweet echo in the air, 
as if played on by the invisible. Even so shall other sf ir- 
its vibrate to the harmony of thine. Utter what God giv- 



FROM NEW. YORK. 181 

eth thee to say. In the sunny West Indies, in gay and 
graceful Paris, in frozen Iceland, and the deep stillness of 
the Hindoo jungle, thou wilt wake a slumbering echo, to 
be carried on for ever through the universe. In vvord and 
act sing thou of united truth and love ; another voice shall 
take up the strain over the waters ; soon it will become a 
WORLD CONCERT ; — and thou above there, in that realm of 
light and love, well pleased wilt hear thy early song, in 
earth's sweet vibration to the harps of heaven. 



LETTER XXVIII. 

September 29, 1842. 

I wish I could walk abroad without having misery forced 
on my notice, which I have no power to relieve. The 
other day, I looked out of my window, and saw a tall, 
gaunt-looking woman leading a little ragged girl, of five or 
six years old. The child carried a dirty little basket, and 
I observed that she went up to every door, and stood on 
tiptoe to reach the bell. From every one, as she held up 
her little basket, she turned away, and came down the steps 
so wearily, and looked so sad — so very sad. I saw this 
repeated at four or five doors, and my heart began to swell 
within me. "I cannot endure this," thought I : '-I must 
buy whatever her^basket contains." Then prudence an- 
swered, "Where's the use ? Don't you meet twenty ob- 
jects more wretched every day? Where can you stop?" 
I moved from my window ; but as I did so, I saw my 
guardian angel turn away in sorrow. I felt that neither 
incense nor anthem would rise before God from that selfish 
second thought. I went to the door. Another group of 
suffering wretches were coming from the other end of the 
street ; and I turned away again, with the feeling that there 



182 LETTERS 

was no use in attending to the hopeless mass of misery 
around me. I should have closed the door, perhaps, but 
as the little girl came near, I saw on her neck a cross, with 
a rudely carved image of the crucified Saviour. Oh, 
blessed Jesus ! friend of the poor, the suffering, and the 
guilty, who is like thee to guide the erring soul, and soften 
the selfish heart ? The tears gushed to my eyes. I 
bought from the little basket a store of matches for a year. 
The woman offered me change ; but 1 could not take it in 
sight of that cross. "In the Saviour's name, take it all,'* 
I said, '' and buy clothes for that little one." A gleam 
lighted up the woman's hard features ; she looked surprised 
and grateful. But the child grabbed at the money, with a 
hungry avarice, that made my very heart ache. Hardship, 
privation, and perchance severity, had changed the genial 
heart-warmth, the gladsome thoughtlessness of childhood, 
into the grasping sensuality of a world-trodden soul. It 
seemed to me the saddest thino^ that in all God's creation 
there should be one such little child. 1 almost feared they 
had driven the angels away from her. But it is not so. 
Her angel, too, does always stand before the face of her 
Father, who is in Heaven. 

This time, I yielded to the melting of my heart ; but a 
hundred times a week, I drive back the generous impulse, 
because I have not the means to gratify it. This is the 
misery of a city like New-York, that a kindly spirit not only 
suffers continual pain, but is obliged to do itself perpetual 
wrong. At times, I almost fancy I can feel myself turning 
to stone by inches. Gladly, oh, how gladly, do I hail any 
little sunbeam of love, that breaks through this cloud of 
misery and wrong. 

The other day, as I came down Broome-street, I saw i 
street musician, playing nearthe door of a genteel dwelling. 
The organ was uncommonly sweet and mellow in its tones, 
the tunes were slow and plaintive, and I fancied that I saw 



FROM NEW. YORK. 183 

in the woman's Italian face an expression that indicated 
sufficient refinement to prefer the tender and the melancho- 
ly, to the lively '• trainer tunes" in vogue with the popu- 
lace. She looked like one who had suffered much, and the 
sorrowful music seemed her own appropriate voice. A lit- 
tle girl clung to her scanty garments, as if afraid of all 
things hut her mother. As I looked at them, a young lady 
of pleasing countenance opened the window, and began to 
sing like a bird, in keeping with the street organ. Two 
other young girls came and leaned on her shoulder ; and still 
she sang on. Blessings on her gentle heart ! It was evi- 
dently the spontaneous gush of human love and sympathy. 
The beauty of the incident attracted attention. A group of 
gentlemen gradually collected round the organist ; and 
ever as the tune ended, they bowed respectfully toward the 
window, waved their hats, and called out, *' More, if you 
please !'' One, whom I knew well for the kindest and truest 
soul, passed round his hat; hearts were kindled, and the 
silver fell in freely. In a minute, four or five dollars were 
collected for the poor woman. She spoke no word of 
gratitude, but she gave such a look ! " Will you go to the 
next street, and play to a friend of mine ?" said my kind- 
hearted friend. She answered, in tones expressingthe deep- 
est emotion, " No, sir, God bless you all — God bless you 
a//," (making a courtesy to the young lady, who had stept 
back, and stood sheltered by the curtain of the window,) 
" I will play no more to-day ; I will go home^ now." The 
tears trickled down her cheeks, and as she walked away, 
she ever and anon wiped her eyes with the corner of her 
shawl. The group of gentlemen lingered a moment to look 
after her, then turning toward the now closed window, they 
gave three enthusiastic cheers, and departed, better than 
they came. The pavement on which they stood had been 
a church to them ; and for the next hour, at least, their 
hearts v/ere more than usually prepared for deeds of gentle- 



184 LETTERS 

ness and mercy. Why are such scenes so uncommon 1 
Why do we thus repress our sympathies, and chill the 
genial current of nature, by formal observances and restraints? 

I thank my heavenly Father for every manifestatiim of 
human love. I thank him for all experiences, be they 
sweet or bitter, which help me to forgive all things, and to 
enfold the whole world with blessing. " What shall be our 
reward," says Swedenborg, "for loving our neighbour as 
ourselves in this life ? That when we become angels, we 
shall be enabled to love him better than ourselves." This 
is a reward pure and holy ; the only one, which my heart 
has not rejected, whenever offered as an incitement to good- 
ness. It is this chiefly which makes the happiness of 
lovers more nearly allied to heaven, than any other emotions 
experienced by the human heart. Each loves the other 
better than himself ; each is willing to sacrifice all to the 
other — nay, finds joy therein. This it is that surrounds 
them with a golden atmosphere, and tinges the world with 
rose-colour. A mother's love has the same angelic cha- 
racter ; more completely unselfish, but lacking the charm 
of perfect reciprocity. 

The cure for all the ills and wrongs, the cares, the sor- 
rows, and the crimes of humanity, all lie in that one word, 
LOVE. It is the divine vitality that everywhere produces 
and restores life. To each and every one of us it gives the 
power of working miracles, if we will. 

" Love is the story without an end, that angels throng to hear; 
The word, the king of words, carved on Jehovah's heart." 

From the highest to the lowest, all feel its influence, all 
acknowledge its sway. Even the poor, despised donkey is 
changed by its magic influence. When coerced and beaten, 
he is vicious, obstinate, and stupid. With the peasantry 
of Spain, he is a petted favourite, almost an inmate of the 
household. The children bid him welcome home, and the 



FROM NEW. YORK. 1S5 

wife feeds him from her hands. He knows them all, and 
he loves them all, for he feels in his inmost heart that they 
all love him. He will follow his master, and come and go 
at his bidding, like a faithful dog; and he delights to take 
the baby on his back, and walk him round, gently, on the 
greensward. His intellect expands, too, in the sunshine 
of affection ; and he that is called the stupidest of animals 
becomes sagacious. A Spanish peasant had for many years 
carried milk into Madrid, to supply a set of customers. 
Every morning, he and his donkey, with loaded panniers, 
trudged the well-known round. At last, the peasant became 
very ill, and had no one to send to market. His wife pro- 
posed to send the faithful old animal by himself. The pan- 
niers were accordingly filled with cannisters of milk, an 
inscription, written by the priest, requested customers to 
measure their own milk, and return the vessels ; and the 
donkey was instructed to set off with his load. He went, 
and returned in due time with empty cannisters ; and this 
he continued to do for several days. The house bells in 
Madrid are usually so constructed that you pull downward 
to make them ring. The peasant afterward learned that 
his sagacious animal stopped before the door of every cus- 
tomer, and after waiting what he deemed a sufficient time, 
pulled the bell with his mouth. If affectionate treatment 
■will thus idealize the jackass, what may it not do? As- 
suredly there is no limit to its power. It can banish crime, 
and make this earth an Eden. 

The best tamer of colts that was ever known in Massa- 
chusetts, never allowed whip or spur to be used ; and the 
horses he trained never need.'d the whip. Their spirits 
were unbroken by severity, and they obeyed the slightest 
impulse of the voice or rein, with the most animated promp- 
titude ; but rendered obedient to affection, their vivacity 
was always restrained by graceful docility. He said it 
was with horses as with children ; if accustomed to beating, 



186 LETTERS 

they would not obey without it. But if managed with un- 
tiring gentleness, united with consistent and very equable 
firmness, the victory once gained over them, was gained 
for ever. 

In the face of all these facts, the world goes on manu- 
facturing whips, spurs, the gallows, and chains ; while each 
one carries within his own soul a divine substitute for these 
devil's inventions, with which he might work miracles, in- 
ward and outward, if he would. Unto this end let us work 
with unfaltering faith. Great is the strength of an indivi- 
dual soul, true to its high trust ; — mighty is it even to the 
redemption of a world. 

A German, whose sense of sound was exceedingly 
acute, was passing by a church, a day or two after he had 
landed in this country, and the sound of music attracted 
him to enter, though he had no knowledge of our lan- 
guage. The music proved to be a piece of nasal psalmo- 
dy, sung in most discordant fashion ; and the sensitive 
German would fain have covered his ears. As this was 
scarcely civil, and might appear like insanity, his next 
impulse was to rush into the open air; and leave the hated 
sounds behind him. " But this, too, I feared to do," said 
he, " lest offence might be given ; so I resolved to endure 
the torture with the best fortitude I could assume ; when 
lo ! I distinguished, amid the din, the soft clear voice of a 
woman singing in perfect tune. She made no eflbrt to 
drown the voices of her companions, neither was she dis- 
turbed by their noisy discord ; but patiently and sweetly 
she sang in full, rich tones : one after another yielded to 
the gentle influence ; and before the tune was finished, all 
were in perfect harmony," 

I have often thought of this story as conveying an in- 
structive lesson for reformers. The spirit that can thus 
sing patiently and sweetly in a world of discord, must 
indeed be of the strongest, as well as the gentlest kind. 



FROM NEW. YORK. 187 

One scarce can hear his own soft voice amid the braying 
of the multitude ; and ever and anon comes the temptation 
to sing louder than they, and drown the voices that can- 
not thus he forced into perfect tune. But this were a pitiful 
experiment ; the melodious tones, cracked into shrillness, 
Avould only increase the tumult. 

Stronger, and more frequently, comes the temptation to 
stop singing, and let discord do its own wild work. But 
blessed are they that endure to the end — singing patiently 
and sweetly, till all join in with loving acquiescence, and 
universal harmony prevails, without forcing into submission 
the free discord of a single voice. 

This is the hardest and the bravest task, which a true 
soul has to perform amid the clashing tdements of time. 
But once has it been done perfectly, unto the end ; and that 
voice, so clear in its meekness, is heard above all the din 
of a tumultuous world ; one after another chimes in with 
its patient sweetness ; and, through infinite discords, the 
listening soul can perceive that the great tune is slowly 
coming into harmony. 



LETTER XXIX. 

October 6, 1842. 

I went last week to Blackvvell's island, in the East river, 
between the city and Long Island. The environs of the 
city are unusually beautiful, considering how far Autumn 
has advanced upon us. Frequent rains have coaxed vege- 
tation into abundance, and preserved it in verdant beauty. 
The trees are hung with a profusion of vines, the rocks are 
dressed in nature's green velvet of moss, and from every little 
cleft peeps the rich foliage of some wind-scattered seed. 
The island itself presents a quiet loveliness of scenery, un- 



188 LETTERS 

surpassed by anything I have ever witnessed ; though Na- 
ture and I are old friends, and she has shown me many of 
her choicest pictures, in a light let in only from above. No 
form of gracefulness can compare with the bend of flowing 
waters all round and round a verdant island. The circle 
typifies Love ; and they who read the spiritual alphabet, 
will see that a circle of waters must needs be very beautiful. 
Beautiful it is, even when the language it speaks is an un- 
known tongue. Then the green hills beyond look so very 
pleasant in the sunshine, with homes nestling among them, 
like dimples on a smilingf face. The island itself abounds 
with charming nooks — open wells in shady places, screen- 
ed by large weeping willows ; gardens and arbors running 
down to the river's edge, to look at themselves in the wa- 
ters ; and pretty boats, like white-winged birds, chased by 
their shadows, and breaking the waves into gems. 

But man has profaned this charming retreat. He has 
brought the screech-owl, the bat, and the vulture, into the 
holy temple of Nature. The island belongs to government ; 
and the only buildings on it are penitentiary, mad house, 
and hospital ; with a few dwellings occupied by people 
connected with those institutions. The discord between 
man and nature never before struck me so painfully ; yet it 
is wise and kind to place the erring and the diseased in the 
midst of such calm, bright influences. Man may curse, but 
Nature for ever blesses. The guiltiest of her wandering 
children she would fain enfold within her arms to the friend- 
ly heart-warmth of a mother's bosom. She speaks to them 
ever in the soft, low tones of earnest love ; but they, alas, 
tossed on the roaring, stunning surge of society, forget the 
quiet language. 

As I looked up at the massive walls of the prison, it did 
my heart good to see doves nestling within the shelter of 
the deep, narrow, grated windows. I thought what blessed 
little messengers of heaven they would appear to me, if I 



FROM NEW-YORK. 189 

were in prison ; but instantly a shadow passed over the sun- 
shine of my thought. Alas, doves do not speak to their 
souls, as they would to mine ; for they have lost their love 
for child-like, and gentle things. Hoiv have they lost it ? 
Society with its unequal distribution, its perverted educa- 
tion, its manifold injustice, its cold neglect, its biting 
mockery, has taken from them the gifts of God. They are 
placed here, in the midst of green hills, and flowing streams, 
and cooing doves, after the heart is petrified against the ge- 
nial influence of all such sights and sounds. 

As usual, the organ of justice (which phrenologists say 
is unusually developed in my head) was roused into great 
activity by the sight of prisoners. *' Would you have them 
prey on society?" said one of my companions. I answer- 
ed, " I am troubled that society has preyed upon them. I 
will not enter into an argument about the right of society 
to punish these sinners; but I say she made them sinners. 
How much r'^ave done toward it, by yielding to popular 
prejudices, obeying false customs, and suppressing vital 
truths, I know not ; but doubtless I have done, and am do- 
ing, my share. God forgive me. If He dealt with us, as 
we deal with our brother, who could stand before Him ?" 

While I was there, they brought in the editors of the 
Flash, the Libertine, and the Weekly Rake. My very soul 
loathes such polluted publications ; yet a sense of justice 
again made me refractory. These men were perhaps 
trained to such service by all the social influences they had 
ever known. They dared to publish what nine tenths of 
all around them Jived unreproved. Why should they be 

imprisoned, while flourished in the full tide of 

editorial success, circulating a paper as immoral, and per- 
haps more dangerous, because its indecency is slightly 
veiled ? Why should the Weekly Rake be shut up, when 
daily rakes walk Broadway in fine broadcloth and silk 
velvet ? 



190 LETTERS 

Many more than half the inmates of the penitentiary 
were women ; and of course a large proportion of them 
were taken up as " street-walkers." The men who made 
them such, who, perchance, caused the love of a human 
heart to be its ruin, and changed tenderness into sensuality 
and crime — these men live in the " ceiled houses" of Broad- 
way, and sit in council in the City Hall, and pass " regu- 
lations" to clear the streets they have filled with sin. And 
do you suppose their poor victims do notyeeZ the injustice 
of society thus regulated ? Think you they respect the 
laws ? Vicious they are, and they may be both ignorant 
and foolish ; but, nevertheless, they are too wise to respect 
such laws. Their whole being cries out that it is a mock- 
ery ; all their experience proves that society is a game of 
chance, where the cunning slip through, and the strong 
leap over. The criminal feels this, even when incapable 
of reasoning upon it. The laws do not secure his rever- 
ence, because he sees that their operation is unjust. The 
secrets of prisons, so far as they are revealed, all tend to 
show that the prevailing feeling of criminals, of all grades, 
is that they are wronged. What we call justice^ they re- 
gard as an unlucky chance ; and whosoever looks calmly 
and wisely into the foundations on which society rolls and 
tumbles, (I cannot say on which it rests^ for its foundations 
heave like the sea,) will perceive that they are victims of 
chance. 

For instance, everything in school-books, social remarks, 
domestic conversation, literature, public festivals, legisla- 
tive proceedings, and popular honours, all teach the young 
soul that it is noble to retaliate, mean to forgive an insult, 
and unmanly not to resent a wrong. Animal instincts, in- 
stead of being brought into subjection to the higher pow- 
ers of the soul, are thus cherished into more than natural 
activity. Of three men thus educated, one enters the army, 
kills a hundred Indians, hangs their scalps on a tree, is 



FROM NEW-YORK. 191 

made major general, and considered a fitting candidate for 
the presidency. 'I'he second goes to the Southwest to re- 
side ; some "roarer" calls him a rascal — a phrase not 
misapplied, perhaps, but necessary to be resented ; he 
agrees to settle the question of honour at ten paces, shoots 
his insulter through the heart, and is hailed by society as a 
brave man. The third lives in New- York; a man enters 
his office, and, true or untrue, calls him a knave. He fights, 
kills his adversary, is tried by the laws of the land, and 
hung. These three men indulged the same passion, acted 
from the same motives, and illustrated the same education ; 
yet how difi'erent their fate ! 

With regard to dishonesty, too — the maxims of trade, the 
customs of society, and the general unreflecting tone of 
public conversation, all tend to promote it. The man vv^ho 
has made " good bargains,'' is wealthy and honoured ; yet 
the details of those bargains few would dare to pronounce 
good. Of two young men nurtured under such influences, 
one becomes a successful merchant ; five thousand dollars 
are borrowed of him ; he takes a mortgage on a house 
worth twenty thousand dollars ; in the absence of the 
owner, when sales are very dull, he offers the house for 
sale, to pay his mortgage ; he bids it in himself, for four 
thousand dollars ; and afterwards persecutes and im- 
prisons his debtor for the remaining thousand. Society 
calls him a shrewd business man, and pronounces his din- 
ners excellent ; the chance is, he will be a magistrate be- 
fore he dies. — The other young man is unsuccessful ; his 
necessities are great ; he borrows some money from his 
employer's drawer, perhaps resolving to restore the same ; 
the loss is discovered before he has a chance to refund it ; 
and society sends him to Blackwell's island, to hammer 
stone with highway robbers. Society made both these men 
thieves ; but punished the one, while she rewarded the 
other. That criminals so universally ftd themselves vie- 



192 LETTERS 

tims of injustice, is one strong proof that it is true ; for im- 
pressions entirely without foundation are not apt to become 
universal. If society does make its own criminals, how 
shall she cease to do it? It can be done only by a change 
in the structure of society, that will diminish the tempta- 
tions to vice, and increase the encouragements to virtue. 
If we can ahoVish. povcrfy, we shall have taken the greatest 
step toward the abolition of crime ; and this will be the 
final triumph of the gospel of Christ. Diversities of gifts 
■will doubtless always exist ; for the law written on spirit, as 
well as matter, is infinite variety. But when the kingdom 
of God comes "on earth, as it is in heaven," there will 
not be found in any corner of it that poverty which hardens 
the heart under the severe pressure of physical suffering, 
and stultifies the intellect with toil for mere animal wants. 
When public opinion regards wealth as a means, and not 
as an end, men will no longer deem penitentiaries a neces- 
sary evil ; for society will then cease to be a great school 
for crime. In the meantime, do penitentiaries and prisons 
increase or diminish the evils they are intended to remedy ? 
The superintendent at Blackweil told me, unasked, that 
ten years' experience had convinced him that the whole 
system tended to increass crime. He said of the lads who 
came there, a large proportion had already been in the 
house of refuge ; and a large proportion of those who left, 
afterward went to Sing Sing. " It is as regular a succes- 
sion as the classes in a college," said he, " from the house 
of refuge to the penitentiary, and from the penitentiary to the 
State prison." I remarked that coercion tended to rouse all 
the bad passions in man's nature, and if long continued, 
hardened the whole character. " I know that," said he, 
" from my own experience ; all the devil there is in me 
rises up when a man attempts to compel me. But what 
can I do ? I am obliged to be very strict. When my feel- 
ings tempt me to unusual indulgence, a bad use is almost 



FROM NEW-YORK. 193 

always made of it. I see that the system fails to produce 
the effect intended ; hut I cannot change the result." 

I felt that his words were true. He could not chano-e 
the influence of the system while he discharged the duties 
of his office ; for the same reason that a man cannot be at 
once slave-driver and missionary on a plantation. I allude 
to the necessities of the office, and do not mean to imply 
that the character of the individual was severe. On the 
contrary, the prisoners seemed to be made as comfortable 
as was compatible with their situation. There were watch- 
towers, with loaded guns, to prevent escape from the island ; 
but they conversed freely with each other as they worked 
in the sunshine, and very few of them looked wretched. 
Among those who were sent under guard to row us back to 
the city, was one who jested on his own situation, in a 
manner which showed plainly enough that he looked on 
the whole thing as a game of chance, in which he happened 
to be the loser. Indulgence cannot benefit such characters. 
What is wanted is, that no human being should grow up 
without deep and friendly interest from the society round 
him ; and that none should feel himself the victim of injus- 
tice, because society punishes the very sins which it teaches, 
nay drives men to commit. The world would be in a hap- 
pier condition if legislators spent half as much time and 
labour to prevent crime, as they do to punish it. The poor 
need houses of encouragement ; and society gives the;Ti 
houses of correction. Benevolent institutions and reforma- 
tory societies perform but a limited and temporary use. 
They do not reach the ground-work of evil ; and it is re- 
produced too rapidly for them to keep even the surface 
healed. The natural, spontaneous influences of society 
should be such as to supply men with healthy motives, and 
give full, free play to the affections, and the faculties. It 
is horrible to see our young men goaded on by the fierce, 
speculating spirit of the age, from the contagion of which 
9 



194 LETTERS 

it is almost impossible to escape, and then see tliem tortured 
into madness, or driven to crime, by fluctuating changes 
of the raonev-market. The young soul is, as it were, en- 
tangled in the great merciless machine of a falsely-con- 
structed society ; the steam he had no hand in raising, 
whirls him hither and thither, and it is altogether a lottery- 
chance whether it crushes or propels him. 

;Manv, who are mourning over the too obvious diseases 
of the world, will smile contemptuously at the idea of re- 
construction. But let them reflect a moment upon the im- 
mense changes that have already come over society. In the 
middle ages, both noble and peasant would have laughed 
loud and long at the prophecy of such a state of society- as 
now exists in the free States of America ; yet here we are ! 

I bv no means underrate modem improvements in the dis- 
cipline of prisons, or progressive meliorations in the crimi- 
nal code. I rejoice in these things as facts, and still more 
as prophecv. Strong as my faith is that the time will come 
when war and prisons will both cease from the face of 
the earth, I am by no means blind to the great difliculties 
in the wav of those who are honestly striving to make the 
best of things as they are. Violations of right, continued 
o-eneration after seneration, and interwoven into the whole 
structure of action and opinion, will continue troublesome and 
injurious, even for a long time after they are outwardly re- 
moved. Legislators and philanthropists may well be puzzled 
to know what to do with those who have become hardened in 
crime ; meanwhile, the highest wisdom should busy itself 
with the more important questions. — How did these men 
become criminals ? Are not social influences largely at 
fault 1 If society is the criminal, were it not well to re- 
form society 1 

It is common to treat the inmates of penitentiaries and 
prisons as if they were altogether unlike ourselves — as if 
they belonged to aaother race ; but this indicates superfl- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 195 

cial thought and feeling. The passions which carried 
those men to prison exist in your own bosom, and have been 
gratified, only in a less degree : perchance, if you look 
inward, with enlightened self-knowledge, you will per- 
ceive that there have been periods in your own life when 
a hair's-breadth further in the wrong would have rendered 
you amenable to human laws ; and that you were prevented 
from moving over that hair'sbreadth boundary by outward 
circumstances, for which you deserve no credit. 

If reflections like these make you think lightly of sin, 
you pervert them to a very bad use. They should teach you 
that every criminal has a human heart, which can be reached 
and softened by the same means that will reach and soften 
your own. In all, even the most hardened, love lies fold- 
ed up, perchance buried ; and the voice of love calls it 
forth, and makes it gleam like living cocls through ashes. 
This influence, if applied in season, would assuredly pre- 
vent the hardness, which it has so much power to soften. 

That most tender-spirited and beautiful book, entitled 
" My Prisons, by Sylvio Pellico," abounds with incidents 
to prove the omnipotence of kindness. He was a gentle 
and a noble soul, imprisoned merely for reasons of state, 
being suspected of republican notions. Robbers and ban- 
ditti, confined in the same building, saluted him with re- 
spect as they passed him in the court ; and he always re- 
turned their salutations with brotherly cordiality. He says, 
*< One of them once said to me, ' Your greeting, signoie, 
does me good. Perhaps you see something in my face 
that is not very bad ? An unhappy passion led me to com- 
mit a crime ; but oh, signore, I am not, indeed I am not 
a villain.' And he burst into tears. I held out my hand 
to him, but he could not take it. My guards, not from bad 
feeling, but in obedience to orders, repulsed him." 

In the sight of God, perchance their repulse was a hea- 
vier crime than that for which the poor fellow was impri- 



196 LETTERS 

soned ; perhaps it made him " a villain," when the genial 
influence of Sylvio Pellico might have restored him a bless- 
ino- to the human family. If these things are so, for what 
a frightful amount of crime are the coercing and repelling 
influences of society responsible ! 

I have not been happy since that visit to Blackwell's 
Island. There is something painful, yea, terrific, in feel- 
ing myself involved in the great wheel of society, which 
goes whirling on, crushing thousands at every turn. This 
relation of the individual to the mass is the sternest and 
most frightful of all the conflicts between necessity and free 
will. Yet here, too, conflict should be harmony, and will 
be so. Put far away from thy soul all desire of retaliation, 
all angry thoughts, all disposition to overcome or humili- 
ate an adversary, and be assured thou hast done much to 
abolish gallows, chains, and prisons, though thou hast never 
written or spoken a word on the criminal code. 

God and good angels alone know the vast, the incalcula- 
ble influence that goes out into the universe of spirit, and 
thence flows into the universe of matter, from the conquer- 
ed evil, and the voiceless prayer, of one solitary soul. 
Wouldst thou bring the world unto God 1 Then live near 
to him thyself. If divine life pervade thine own soul, every 
thing that touches thee will receive the electric spark, 
though thou mayest be unconscious of beinof charcred there- 
with. This surely would be the highest, to strive to keep 
near the holy, not for the sake of our own reward here or 
hereafter, but that through love to God we might bless our 
neighbour. The human soul can perceive this, and yet the 
beauty of the earth is everywhere defaced with jails and 
gibbets ! Angelic natures can never deride, else vv ere there 
loud laughter in heaven at the discord between man's per- 
ceptions and his practice. 

At Long Island Farms I found six hundred children, sup. 
ported by the public. It gives them wholesome food, com- 



FROM NEW-YORK . 197 

fortable clothing, and the common rudiments of education. 
For this it deserves praise. But the aliment which the 
spirit craves, the public has not to give. The young heart 
asks for love, yearns for love — but its own echo returns to 
it through empty halls, instead of answer. 

The institution is much lauded by visiters, and not with- 
out reason ; for every thing looks clean and comfortable, 
and the children appear happy. The drawbacks are such 
as inevitably belong to their situation, as children of the 
public. The oppressive feeling is, that there are no mo- 
thers there. Every thing moves by machinery, as it al- 
ways must with masses of children, never subdivided into 
families. In one place, I saw a stack of small wooden 
guns, and was informed that the boys were daily drilled 
to military exercises, as a useful means of forming habits of 
order, as well as fitting them for the future service of the 
state. Their infant school evolutions partook of the same 
drill character; and as for their religion, I was informed 
that it was " beautiful to see them pray ; for at the first tip 
of the whistle, they all dropped on their knees." Alas, 
poor childhood, thus doth " church and state" provide for 
thee ! The state arms thee with wooden guns, to play the 
future murderer, and the church teaches thee to pray in pla- 
toons, '■■ at the first tip of the whistle." Luckily they can- 
not drive the angels from thee, or most assuredly they would 
do it, pro bono publico. 

The sleeping-rooms were clean as a Shaker's apron. 
When I saw the long rows of nice little beds, ranged side 
by side, 1 inquired whether there was not a merry buzz 
in the morning. " They are not permitted to speak at all 
in the sleeping apartments," replied the superintendent. 
The answer sent a chill through my heart. I acknowledg- 
ed that in such large establishments the most exact method 
was necessary, and I knew that the children had abundant 
opportunity for fun and frolic in the sunshine and the open 



198 LETTERS 

fields, in the after part of tlie day ; but it is so natural for 
all young things to crow and sing when they open their 
eyes to the morning light, that I could not bear to have the 
cheerful instinct perpetually repressed. 

The hospital for these children is on the neighbouring 
island of Blackwell. This establishment, though clean 
and well supplied with outward comforts, was the most 
painful sight I ever witnessed. About one hundred and 
fifty children were there, mostly orphans, inheriting every 
variety of disease from vicious and sickly parents. In beds 
all of a row, or rolling by dozens over clean matting on the 
floor, the poor little pale, shrivelled, and blinded creatures 
were waiting for death to come and release them. Here 
the absence of a mother's love was most agonizing ; not 
even the patience and gentleness of a saint could supply 
its place ; and saints are rarely hired by the public. There 
was a sort of resignation expressed in the countenances of 
some of the little ones, which would have been beautiful 
in matiirer years, but in childhood it spoke mournfully of a 
withered soul. It was pleasant to think that a large pro- 
portion of them would soon be received by the angels, who 
will doubtless let them sing in the morning. 

That the law of Love may cheer and bless even public 
establishments, has been proved by the example of the 
Society of Friends. They formerly had an establishment 
for their own poor, in the city of Philadelphia, on a plan so 
simple and so beautiful, that one cannot but mourn to think 
it has given place to more common and less brotherly modes 
of relief. A nest of small households enclosed, on three 
sides, an open space devoted to gardens, in which each 
had a share. Here each poor family lived in separate 
rooms, and were assisted by the Society, according to its 
needs. Sometimes a widow could support herself, with 
the exception of rent ; and in that case, merely rooms were 
furnished gratis. An aged couple could perhaps subsis 



FROM NEW-YORK. 199 

very comfortably, if supplied with house and fuel ; and the 
friendly assistance was according to their wants. Some 
needed entire support ; and to such it was ungrudgingly 
given. These paupers were oftentimes ministers and 
elders, took the highest seats in the meeting-house, and had 
as much influence as any in the affairs of the Society. 
Everything conspired to make them retain undiminished 
self-respect. The manner in which they evinced this 
would be considered impudence in the tenants of our modern 
alms-houses. One old lady being supplied with a load of 
wood at her free lodgings, refused to take it, saying, that 
it did not suit her ; she wanted dry, small wood. " But,'* 
remonstrated the man. " I was ordered to bring it here." 
»« I can't help that. Tell 'em the best wood is the best 
economy. I do not want such wood as that." Her orders 
were obeyed, and the old lady's wishes were gratified. 
Another, who took great pride and pleasure in the neatness 
of her little garden, employed a carpenter to make a trellis 
for her vines. Some objection was made to paying this 
bill, it being considered a mere superfluity. But the old 
lady maintained that it was necessary for her comfort; and 
at meetings and all public places, she never failed to rebuke 
the elders. " you profess to do unto others as you would 
be done by, and you have never paid that carpenter his 
bill." Worn out by her perseverance, they paid the bill, 
and she kept her trellis of vhies. It probably was more 
necessary to her comfort than many things they would 
have considered as not superfluous. 

The poor of this establishment did not feel like de- 
pendents, and were never regarded as a burden. They 
considered themselves as members of a family, receiving 
from brethren the assistance they would have gladly be- 
stowed under a reverse of circumstances. This approaches 
the gospel standard. Since the dawn of Christianhy, no 
class of people have furnished an example so replete with 



200 LETTERS 

a most wise tenderness, as the Society of Friends, in the 
days of its purity. Thank God, nothing good or true ever 
dies. The lifeless form falls from it, and it lives elsewhere. 



LETTER XXX. 

November 13, 1842. 

Oh, who that has not been shut up in the great prison- 
cell of a city, and made to drink of its brackish springs, 
can estimate the blessings of the Croton Aqueduct? clean, 
sweet, abundant water ! Well might they bring it thirty 
miles under-ground, and usher it into the city with roaring 
cannon, sonorous bells, waving flags, floral canopies, and a 
loud chorus of song ! 

I shall never forget my sensations when I first looked 
upon the Fountains. My soul jumped, and clapped its 
hands, rejoicing in exceeding beauty. I am a novice, and 
easily made wild by the play of graceful forms ; but those 
accustomed to the splendid displays of France and Italy, 
say the world offers nothing to equal the magnificence of 
the New- York jets. There is such a head of water, that 
it throws the column sixty feet into the air, and drops it 
into the basin in a shower of diamonds. The" one in the 
Park, opposite the Astor house, consists of a large central 
pipe, with eighteen subordinate jets in a basin a hundred 
feet broad. By shifting the plate on the conduit pipe, these 
fountains can be made to assume various shapes : The 
Maid of the Mist, the Croton Plume, the Vase, the Dome, 
the Bouquet, the Sheaf of Wheat, and the Weeping-willow. 
As the sun shone on the sparkling drops, through mist and 
feathery foam, rainbows glimmered at the sides, as if they 
came to celebrate a marriage between Spirits of Light and 
Water Nymphs. 



FROM NEW- YORK. 201 

The fountain in Union Park is smaller, but scarcely less 
beautiful. It is a weeping willow of crystal drops ; but one 
can see that it weeps for joy. Now it leaps and sports as 
gracefully as Undine in her wildest moods, and then sinks 
into the vase under a veil of woven pearl, like the undu- 
lating farewell courtesy of her fluid relations. On the 
evening of the great Croton celebration, they illuminated 
this Fountain with coloured fireworks, kindlino^the cloud of 
mist with many- coloured gems ; as if the Water Spirits had 
had another weddinor with Fairies of the Diamond Mines. 

I went out to Harlaem, the other day, to see the great 
jet of water, which there rises a hundred feet into the air, 
and falls through a belt of rainbows. Water willnse to its 
level, as surely as the morality of a nation, or a sect, rises 
to its idea of God. They to whom God is the Almighty, 
rather than the Heavenly Father, do not understand that the 
highest ideal of Justice is perfect and universal Love. 
They cannot perceive this : for both spiritually and naturally 
water never rises above the level of its source. But how 
sublimely it rushes upward to fnd its level ! As I gazed 
in loving wonder on that beautiful column, it seemed to me 
a fitting type of those pure, free spirits, who, at the small- 
est opening, spring upward to the highest, revealing to all 
mankind the true level of the religious idea of their age. 
But, alas, here is the stern old conflict between Necessity 
and Freewill. The column, by the law of its being, 
would rise quite to the level of its source ; but as the im- 
pulse, that sent it forth in such glorious majesty, expends 
itself, the lateral pressure overpowers the leaping waters, 
and sends them downward in tears. 

If we had a tube high enough to defend the struggling 
water from surrounding pressure, it would rise to its level. 
Will society ever be so constructed as to enable us to do 
this spiritually ? It ?nust be so, before, " Holiness to the 
Lord," is written on the bells of the horses. 
9* 



202 LETTERS 

I told my beloved friends, as we stood gazing on that 
magnificent jet of water, that its grandeur and its grace- 
fulness revealed much, and promised more. They smiled, 
and reminded me that it was a canon of criticism, laid 
down by Blair, never to liken the natural to the spiritual. 
I have no dispute with those who let down an iron-barred 
portcullis between matter and spirit. The winged soul 
flies over, and sees the whole as one fair region, golden 
with the same sunlight, fresh with the same breezes from 
heaven. 

But I must not offer sybilline leaves in the market. Who 
will buy them? The question shows that ?«?/ spirit likewise 
feels the lateral pressure. Would I could turn downward 
as gracefully as the waters ! uniting the upward and the 
downward tendency in an arch so beautiful, and every drop 
sparkling as it falls into the common reservoir, whence 
future fountains shall gush in perpetual beauty. 

I am again violating Blair's injunction. His iron gate 
rolls away like a stage curtain, and lo, the whole region of 
spiritual progress opens in glorious perspective ! How 
shall I get back to the actual, and stay there ? If the doc- 
trine of transmigration of souls were true, I should assur- 
edly pass into a bird of Paradise, which forever floats in 
the air, or if it touches the earth for a moment, is impatient 
to soar again. 

Strange material this for a reformer ! And I tell you 
plainly that reforming work lies around me like "the ring 
of Necessity," and ever and anon Freewill bites at the 
circle. But this nesessity is only another name for con- 
science ; and that is the voice of God. I would not un- 
chain Freewill, if I could ; for if I did, the planets would 
fly out of their places ; for they, too, in their far off splen- 
dour, are linked with every fragment we perceive of truth 
and duty. 

But there is a false necessity with which we industri- 



FROM NEW -YORK. 203 

ously surround ourselves ; a circle that never expands ; 
whose iron never changes to ductile gold. This is the 
pressure of public opinion ; the intolerable restraint of 
conventional forms. Under this despotic influence, men 
and women check their best impulses, suppress their no- 
blest feelings, conceal their highest thoughts. Each longs 
for full communion with other souls, but dares not give 
utterance to its yearnings. What hinders ? The fear of 
what Mrs. Smith, or Mrs. Clark, will say ; or the frown of 
some sect ; or the anathema of some synod ; or the fashion 
of some clique ; or the laugh of some club ; or the mis- 
representation of some political party. Oh, thou foolish 
soul ! Thou art afraid of thy neighbour, and knowest not 
that he is equally afraid of thee. He has bound thy hands, 
and thou hast fettered his feet. It were wise for both to snap 
the imaginary bonds, and walk onward unshackled. If thy 
heart yearns for love, he loving ; if thou wouldst free man- 
kind, he free ; if thou wouldst have a brother frank to thee, 
he frank to him. 

*' Be noble ! and the nobleness that lies 
In other men, sleeping but never dead. 
Will rise in majesty to meet thine own." 

" But what will people say ?" 

Why does it concern thee wTiat they say ? Thy life i^ 
not in their hands. They can give thee nothing of real 
value, nor take from thee anything that is worth the having. 
Satan may promzse thee all the kingdoms of the earth, but 
he has not an acre of it to give. He may offer much, as the 
price of his worship, but there is a flaw in all his title deeds. 
Eternal and sure is the promise, " Blessed are the meek, 
for they shall inherit the earth." Only have faith in this, 
and thou wilt live high above the rewards and punishment^ 
of that spectral giant, which men call Society. 



204 LETTERS 

*» But I shall be misunderstood — misrepresented." 

And what if thou art ? They Avho throw stones at what 
is above them, receive the missiles back again, by the law 
of gravity ; and lucky are they, if they bruise not their 
own faces. 

Would that I could persuade all who read this to be 
truthful and free ; to say what they think, and act what 
they feel ; to cast from them, like ropes of sand, all fear of 
seels, and parties, and clans, and classes. Most earnestly 
do I pray to be bound only by my own conscience, in that 
circle of duties, which widens ever, till it enfolds all being, 
and touches the throne of God. 

What is there of joyful freedom in our social intercourse ? 
We meet to see each other ; and not a peep do we get un- 
der the thick, stifling veil which each carries about him. 
We visit to enjoy ourselves ; and our host takes away all 
our freedom, while we destroy his own. If the host wishes 
to work or ride, he dare not, lest it seem unpolite to the 
guest ; if the guest wishes to read or sleep, he dare not, 
lest it seem unpolite to the host ; so they both remain 
slaves, and feel it a relief to part company. A few indi- 
viduals, mostly in foreign lands, arrange this matter with 
wiser freedom. If a visiter arrives, they say, " I am busy 
to-day ; but if you wish to ride, there are horse and saddle 
in the stable ; if you wish to read, there are books in the 
library ; if you are inclined to music, flute and piano are in 
the parlour ; if you want to work, the men are raking hay 
in the fields ; if you want to romp, the children are at play in 
the court ; if you want to talk with me, I can be with you 
at such an hour. Go when you please, and while you stay 
do as you please." 

At some houses in Florence, large parties meet, without 
invitation, and with the slightest preparation. It is under- 
stood that on some particular evening of the week, a lady 
or gentleman always receive their friends. In one room are 



FROM NEW-YORK. 205 

books, and busts, and flowers ; in another, pictures and en- 
gravings ; in a third, music ; couples are ensconced in 
some sheltered alcove, or groups dotted about the rooms in 
mirthful or serious conversation. No one is required to 
speak to his host, either entering or departing. Lemonade 
and baskets of fruit stand here and there on the side-tables, 
that all may take who like ; but eating, which constitutes 
so large a part of all iVmerican entertainments, is a slight 
and almost unnoticed incident in these festivals of intel- 
lect and taste. Wouldst thou like to see such social free- 
dom introduced here ? Then do it. But the first step must 
be complete indifference to Mrs. Smith's assertion, that you 
were mean enough to offer only one kind of cake to your 
company, and to put less shortening in the under crust of 
your pies than the upper. Let Mrs. Smith talk according 
to her gifts ; be thou assured that all living souls love free- 
dom better than cake or under-crust. 

0( perfect social freedom I never knew but one instance. 

Doctor H of Boston, coming home to dine one day, 

found a very bright-looking handsome mulatto on the steps, 
apparently about seven or eight years old. As he opened 
the door, the boy glided in, as if it were his home. " What 
do you want ?" said the doctor. The child looked up with 
smiling confidence, and answered, " I am a little boy that 
run away from Providence ; and I want some dinner ; and 
I thought maybe you would give me some." His radiant 
face, and child-like freedom operated like a charm. He 
had a good dinner, and remained several days, becoming 
more and more the pet of the whole household. He said 
he had been cruelly treated by somebody in Providence, 
and had run away ; but the people he described could not 
be found. The doctor thought it would not do to have him 
growing up in idleness, and he tried to find a place where 
he could run of errands, clean knives, <fec., for his living. 
An hour after this was mentioned, the boy was missing. 



206 LETTERS 

In a few weeks, they heard of him in the opposite part of the 
city, sitting on a door-step at dinner-time. When the door 
opened, he walked in, smiling, and said, " I am a little boy 
that run away from Providence ; and I want some dinner, 
and I thought maybe you would give me some." He was 
not mistaken this time either. The heart that trusted so 
completely received a cordial welcome. After a time, it 
was again proposed to find some place at service ; and 
straightway this human butterfly was off, no one knew 
whither. 

For several months no more was heard of him. But one 
bright winter day, his first benefactor found him seated on 
the steps of a house in Beacon-street. " Why, Tom, where 
did you come from ?'' said he. " I came from Philadel- 
phia." " How upon earth did you get there ?" "I heard 
folks talk about New- York, and I thought I should like to 
see it. So I went on board a steamboat ; and when it put 
off, the captain asked me who I was ; and I told him that I 
was a little boy that run away from Providence, and I want- 
ed to go to New-York, but I hadn't any money. ' You lit- 
tle rascal,' says he, * I'll throw you overboard.' ' I don't 
believe you will,' said I ; and he didn't. I told him I was 
hungry, and he gave me something to eat, and made up a 
nice little bed for me. When I got to New-York, I went 
and sat down on a door-step ; and when the gentleman came 
home to dinner, I went in, and told him that I was a little 
boy that run away from Providence, and I was hungry. 
So they gave me something to eat, and made up a nice lit- 
tle bed for me, and let me stay there. But I wanted to see 
Philadelphia ; so I w^nt into a steamboat ; and when they 
asked me who I was, I told them that I was a little boy that 
run away from Providence. They said I had no business 
there, but they gave me an orange. When I got to Phila- 
delphia, I sat down on a door-step, and when the gentleman 
came home to dinner, I told him I was a little boy that run 



FROM NEW-YORK. 207 

away from Providence, and I thought perhaps he would 
give me something to eat. So they gave me a good din- 
ner, and made me up a nice little bed. Then I wanted to 
come back to Boston ; and everybody gave me something 
to eat, and made me up a nice little bed. And I sat down 
on this door-step, and when the lady asked me what I want- 
ed, I told her I was a little boy that run away from Provi- 
dence, and I was hungry. So she gave me something to 
eat, and made me up a nice little bed ; and I stay here, and 
do her errands sometimes. Every body is very good to 
me, and I like everybody."' 

He looked up with the most sunny gayety, and striking 
his hoop as he spoke, went down the street like an arrow. 
He disappeared soon after, probably in quest of new ad- 
ventures. I have never heard of him since ; and sometimes 
a painful fear passes through my mind that the kidnappers, 
prowling about all our large towns, have carried him into 
slavery. 

The story had a charm for me, for two reasons. I was 
delighted with the artless freedom of the winning, wayward 
child; and still more did I rejoice in the perpetual kind- 
ness, which everywhere gave it such friendly greeting. 
Oh, if we would but dare to throw ourselves on each other's 
hearts, how the image of heaven would be reflected all over 
the face of this earth, as the clear blue sky lies mirrored in 
the waters. 



LETTER XXXI. 

November 19, 1842. 

To-day, I cannot write of beauty; for I am sad and 
troubled. Heart, head, and conscience, are all in battle- 
array against the savage customs of my time. By and by, 
the law of love, like oil upon the waters, will calm my 



208 LETTERS 

surging sympathies, and make the current flow more calmly, 
though none the less deep or strong. But to-day, do not 
ask me to love governor, sheriff or constable, or any man 
who defends capital punishment. I ought to do it ; for 
genuine love enfolds even murderers with its blessing. 
By to-morrow, I think I can remember them without bitter- 
ness ; but to-day, I cannot love them ; on my soul, T cannot. 

We were to have had an execution yesterday ; but the 
wretched prisoner avoided it by suicide. The gallows had 
been erected for several hours, and with a cool refinement 
of cruelty, was hoistc^d before the window of the condemn- 
ed ; the hangman was all ready to cut the cord ; marshals 
paced back and forth, smoking and whistling; spectators 
were waiting impatiently to see whether he would " die 
game." Printed circulars had been handed abroad to sum- 
mon the number of witnesses required by law : " You are 
respectfully invited to witness the execution of John C. 
Colt." I trust some of them are preserved for museums. 
Specimens should be kept, as relics of a barbarous age, for 
succeeding generations to wonder at. They might be hung- 
up in a frame ; and the portrait of a New Zealand Chief, 
picking the bones of an enemy of his tribe, would be an ap- 
propriate pendant. 

This bloody insult was thrust into the hands of some 
citizens, who carried hearts under their vests, and they 
threw it in tattered fragments to the dogs and swine, as 
more fitting witnesses than human beings. It was cheer- 
ing to those who have faith in human progress, to see how 
many viewed the subject in this light. But as a general 
thing, the very spirit of murder was rife among the dense 
crowd, which thronged the place of execution. They were 
swelling with revenge, and eager for blood. One man 
came all the way from New Hampshire, on purpose to wit- 
ness the entertainment ; thereby showing himself a likely 
subject for the gallows, whoever he may be. Womeii deem- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 209 

ed themselves not treated with becoming gallantry, because 
tickets of admittance were denied them; and I think it 
showed injudicious partiality ; for many of them can be 
taught murder by as short a lesson as any man, and sustain 
it by arguments from Scripture, as ably as any theologian. 
However, they were not admitted to this edifying exhibition 
in the great school of public morals ; and had only the 
slim comfort of standing outside, in a keen November wind, 
to catch the first toll of the bell, which would announce that 
a human brother had been sent struggling into eternity by the 
hand of violence. But while the multitude stood with open 
watches, and strained ears to catch the sound, and the 
marshals smoked and whistled, and the hangman walked 
up and down, waiting for his prey, lo! word was brought 
that the criminal was found dead in his bed ! He had asked 
one half hour alone to prepare his mind for departure ; and 
at the end of that brief interval, he was found with a dagger 
thrust into his heart. The tidings were received with fierce 
mutterings of disappointed rage. The throng beyond the 
walls were furious to see him with their own eyes, to be 
sure that he was dead. But when the welcome news met 
my ear, a tremendous load was taken from my heart. I 
had no chance to analyze right and wrong ; for over all 
thought and feeling flowed impulsive joy, that this " Chris- 
tian" community were cheated of a hanging. They who had 
assembled to commit legalized murder, in cold blood, with 
strange confusion of ideas, were unmindful of their own 
guilt, while they talked of his suicide as a crime equal to 
that for which he was condemned. I am willing to leave 
it between him and his God. For myself, I would rather 
have the burden of it on my own soul, than take the guilt 
of those who would have executed a fellow-creature. He 
was driven to a fearful extremity of agony and desperation. 
He was precisely in the situation of a man on board a burn- 
ing ship, who being compelled to face death, jumps into the 



210 LETTERS 

waves, as the least painful mode of the two. But they, who 
thus drove him "to walk the plank," made cool, deliberate 
preparations to take life, and with inventive cruelty sought 
to add every bitter drop that could be added to the dread- 
ful cup of vengeance. 

To me, human life seems so sacred a thing, that its vio- 
lent termination always fills me with horror, whether per- 
petrated by an individual or a crowd ; whether done con- 
trary to law and custom, or according to law and custom. 
Why John C. Colt should be condemned to an ignominious 
death for an act of resentment altogether unpremeditated, 
while men, who deliberately, and Mdth malice aforethought, 
go out to murder another for some insulting word, are 
judges, and senators in the land, and favourite candidates for 
the President's chair, is more than I can comprehend. 
There is, to say the least, a strange inconsistency in our 
customs. 

At the same moment that I was informed of the death of 
the prisoner, I heard that the prison was on fire. It was 
soon extinguished, but the remarkable coincidence added 
not a little to the convulsive excitement of the hour. I 
went with a friend to look at the beautiful spectacle ; for it 
was exceedingly beautiful. The fire had kindled at the 
very top of the cupola, the wind was high, and the flames 
rushed upward, as if the angry spirits below had escaped 
on fiery wings. Heaven forgive the feelings that, for a 
moment mingled with my admiration of that beautiful con- 
flagration ! Society had kindled all around me a bad ex- 
citement, and one of the infernal sparks fell into my own 
heart. If this was the effect produced on me, who am by 
nature tender-hearted, by principle opposed to all retalia- 
tion, and by social position secluded from contact with 
evil, what must it have been on the minds of rowdies and 
desperadoes ? The eff'ect of executions on all brought 
within their influence is evil, and nothing but evil. For a 



FROM NEW-YORK. 211 

fortniglit past, this whole city has been kept in a state of 
corroding excitement, either of hope or fear. The stern 
pride of the prisoner left little in his peculiar case to appeal 
to the sympathies of society ; yet the instincts of our com- 
mon nature rose up against the sanguinary spirit manifested 
toward him. The public were, moreover, divided in opin- 
ion with regard to the legal construction of his crime ; and 
in the keen discussion of legal distinctions, moral distinc- 
tions became vvofully confused. Each day, hope and fear 
alternated ; the natural effect of all this, was to have the 
whole thing regarded as a game, in which the criminal 
might, or might not, become the winner ; and every experi- 
ment of this kind shakes public respect for the laws, from 
centre to circumference. Worse than all this was the hor- 
rible amount of diabolical passion excited. The hearts of 
men were filled with murder ; they gloated over the thoughts 
of vengeance, and were rabid to witness a fellow-creature's 
agony. They complained loudly thai he was not to be hung 
high enough for the crowd to see him. " What a pity !" 
exclaimed a woman, who stood near me, gazing at the 
burning tower ; " they will have to give him two hours more 
to live." " Would you feel so, if he were your son ?" said 
I. Her countenance changed instantly. She had not be- 
fore realized that every criminal was somebody'' s son. 

As we walked homeward, we encountered a deputy 
sheriff; not the most promising material, certainly, for 
lessons on humanity ; but to him we spoke of the crowd of 
savage faces, and the tones of hatred, as obvious proofs of 
the bad influence of capital punishment. " I know that,'* 
said he ; " but 1 don't see how we could dispense with it. 
Now suppose we had fifty murderers shut up in prison for 
life, instead of hanging 'em ; and suppose there should come 
a revolution ; what an awful thing it would be to have fifty 
murderers inside the prison, to be let loose upon the com- 
munity !" " There is another side to that proposition," we 



212 LETTERS 

answered ; " for every criminal you execute, you make a 
hundred murderers outside the prison, each as dangerous 
as would be the one inside." He said perhaps it was so ; 
and went his way. 

As for the punishment and the terror of such doings, 
they fall most keenly on the best hearts in the community. 
Thousands of men, as well as women, had broken and 
startled sleep for several nights preceding that dreadful day. 
Executions always excite a universal shudder among the 
innocent, the humane, and the wise-hearted. It is the 
voice of God, crying aloud within us against the wicked- 
ness of this savage custom. Else why is it that the in- 
stinct is so universal? 

The last conversation 1 had with the late William Ladd 
made a strong impression on my mind. While he was a 
sea-captain, he occasionally visited Spain, and once wit- 
nessed an execution there. He said that no man, however 
low and despicable, would consent to perform the office of 
hangman ; and whoever should dare to suo^orestsuchathincr 
to a decent man, would be likely to have his brains blown 
out. This feeling was so strong, and so universal, that the 
only way they could procure an executioner, was to offer 
a condemned criminal his own life, if he would consent to 
perform the vile and hateful office on another. Sometimes 
executions were postponed for months, because there was 
no condemned criminal to perform the office of hangman. 
A fee was allotted by law to the wretch who did perform it, 
but no one would run the risk of touching his polluted hand 
by giving it to him ; therefore, the priest threw the purse 
as far as possible ; the odious being ran to pick it up, and 
hastened to escape from the shuddering execrations of all 
who had known him as a hangman. Even the poor animal 
that carried the criminal and his coffin in a cart to the foot 
of the gallows, was an object of universal loathing. He 
was cropped and marked, that he might be known as the 



FROM NEW-YORK. 213 

'* Hangman's Donkey." No man, however great his needs, 
would use this beast, either for pleasure or labour ; and the 
peasants were so averse to having him pollute their fields 
with his footsteps, that when he was seen approaching, the 
boys hastened to open the gates, and drive him off with 
hisses, sticks, and stones. Thus does the human heart 
cry out aloud against this wicked practice ! 

A tacit acknowledgment of the demoralizing influence of 
executions is generally made, in the fact that they are for- 
bidden to be 'public^ as formerly. The scene is now in a 
prison yard, instead of open fields, and no spectators are 
admitted but officers of the law, and those especially invited. 
Yet a favourite argument in favour of capital punishment 
has been the terror that the spectacle inspires in the breast 
of evil doers. I trust the two or three hundred, singled 
out from the mass of New-York population, by particular 
invitation, especially the judges and civil officers, will feel 
the full weight of the compliment. During the French 
Revolution, public executiims seemed too slow, and Fou- 
quier proposed to put the guillotine under cover, where 
batches of a hundred might be despatched with few spec- 
tators. " Wilt thou demoralize the guillotine V asked Callot, 
reproachfully. 

That bloody guillotine was an instrument of law, as well 
as our gallows ; and what, in the name of all that is villa- 
nous, has not been established by law ? Nations, clans, 
and classes, engaged in fierce struggles of selfishness and 
hatred, made laws to strengthen each other's power, and 
revenge each other's aggressions. By slow degrees, always 
timidly and reluctantly, society emerges out of the barba- 
risms with which it thus became entangled. It is but a 
short time ago that men were hung in this country for steal- 
ing. The last human brother who suffered under this law, 
in Massachusetts, was so wretchedly poor, that when he 
hung on the gallows his rags fluttered in the wind. What 



214 LETTERS 

think you was the comparative guilt, in the eye of God, be- 
tween him and those who hung him? Yet, it was accord- 
ing to law ; and men cried out as vociferously then as they 
now do, that it was not safe to have the law changed. Judge 
McKean, governor of Pennsylvania, was strongly opposed 
to the abolition of death for stealing, and the disuse of the 
pillory and whipping-post. He was a very humane man, 
but had the common fear of chantjincr old customs. " It 
will not do to abolish these salutarv restraints," said the old 
gentleman ; " it will break up the foundations of society." 
Those relics of barbarism were banished long ago ; but the 
foundations of society are in nowise injured thereby. 

The testimony from all parts of the world is invariable 
and conclusive, that crime diminishes in proportion to the 
mildness of the laws. The real danger is in having laws 
on the statute-book at variance with universal instincts of 
the human heart, and thus tempting men to continual eva- 
sion. The evasion, even of a bad law, is attended with 
many mischievous results ; its abolition is always safe. 

In looking at Capital Punishment in its practical bearings 
on the operation of justice, an observing mind is at once 
struck with the extreme uncertainty attending it. The 
balance swings hither and thither, and settles, as it were, 
by chance. The strong instincts of the heart teach juries 
extreme reluctance to convict for capital offences. They 
will avail themselves of every loophole in the evidence, to 
avoid the bloody responsibility imposed upon them. In 
this way, undoubted criminals escape all punishment, until 
society becomes alarmed for its own safety, and insists that 
the next victim shall be sacrificed. It was the misfortune 
of John C. Colt to be arrested at the time when the popular 
wave of indignation had been swelling higher and higher, 
in consequence of the impunity with which Robinson, 
White, and Jewell, had escaped. The wrath and jealousy 
which they had excited was visited upon him, and his 



FROM NEW-YORK. 216 

chance for a merciful verdict was greatly diminished. The 
scale now turns the other way ; and the next offender will 
probably receive very lenient treatment, though he should 
not have half so many extenuating circumstances in his 
favour. 

Another thought which forces itself upon the mind in 
consideration of this subject is the danger of convicting the 
innocent. Murder is a crime which must of course be 
committed in secret, and therefore the proof must be mainly 
circumstantial. This kind of evidence is in its nature so 
precarious, that men have learned great timidity in trusting 
to it. In Scotland, it led to so many terrible mistakes, that 
they long ago refused to convict any man of a capital 
ofl'ence, upon circumstantial evidence. 

A few years ago, a poor German came to New- York, 
and took lodgings, where he was allowed to do his cooking 
in the same room with the family. The husband and wife 
lived in a perpetual quarrel. One day, the German came 
into the kitchen with a clasp knife and a pan of potatoes, 
and began to pare them for his dinner. The quarrelsome 
couple were in a more violent altercation than usual; but 
he sat with his back toward ihem, and being ignorant of 
their language, felt in no danger of being involved in their 
disputes. But the woman, with a sudden and unexpected 
movement, snatched the knife from his hand, and plunged 
it in her husband's heart. She had sufficient presence of 
mind to rush into the street, and scream murder. The poor 
foreigner, in the meanwhile, seeing the wounded man reel, 
sprang forward to catch him in his arms, and drew out the 
knife. People from the street crowded in, and found him 
with the dying man in his arms, the knife in his hand, and 
blood upon his clothes. The wicked woman swore, in the 
most positive terms, that he had been fighting with her 
husband, and had stabbed him with a knife he always car- 
ried. The unfortunate German knew too little English to 



216 LETTERS 

understand her accusation, or to tell his own storv. He 
was dragged off to prison, and the true state of the case 
was made known through an interpreter; but it was not be- 
lieved. Circumstantial evidence was exceedingly strong 
against the accused, and the real criminal swore unhesita- 
tingly that she saw him commit the murder. He was exe- 
cuted, notwithstanding the most persevering efforts of his 
lawyer, John Anthon, Esq., whose convictions of the man's 
innocence were so painfully strong, that from that day to 
this, he has refused to have any connection with a capital 
case. Some years after this tragic event, the woman died, 
and, on her death-bed, confessed her agency in the diaboli- 
cal transaction ; but her poor victim could receive no benefit 
from this tardy repentance ; society had wantonly thrown 
away its power to atone for the grievous wrong. 

Many of my readers will doubtless recollect the tragical 
fate of Burton, in Missouri, on which a novel was founded, 
which still circulates in the libraries. A young lady, be- 
longing to a genteel and very proud family, in Missouri, 
was beloved by a young man named Burton ; but unfortu- 
nately, her affections were fixed on another less worthy. 
He left her with a tarnished reputation. She was by nature 
energetic and high-spirited, her family were proud, and 
she lived in the midst of a society which considered re- 
venge a virtue, and named it honour. Misled by this false 
popular sentiment, and her own excited feelings, she re- 
solved to repay her lover's treachery with death. But she 
kept her secret so well, that no one suspected her purpose, 
though she purchased pistols, and practised with them daily. 
Mr. Burton gave evidence of his strong attachment by re- 
newing his attentions when the world looked most coldly 
upon her. His generous kindness won her bleeding heart, 
but the softening influence of love did not lead her to forego 
the dreadful purpose she had formed. She watched for a 
favourable opportunity, and shot her betrayer, when no one 



FROM NEW-YORK. 217 

was near, to witness the horrible deed. Some little inci- 
dent excited the suspicion of Burton, and he induced her to 
confess to him the whole transaction. It was obvious 
enough that suspicion would naturally fasten upon him, 
the well-known lover of her who had been so deeply in- 
jured. He was arrested, but succeeded in persuading her 
that he was in no danger. Circumstantial evidence was 
fearfully against him, and he soon saw that his chance was 
doubtful ; but with affectionate magnaminity, he concealed 
this from her. He was convicted and condemned. A short 
time before the execution, he endeavoured to cut his throat ; 
but his life was saved, for the cruel purpose of taking it 
away according to the cold-blooded barbarism of the law. 
Pale and wounded, he was hoisted to the gallows before 
the gaze of a Christian community. 

The guilty cause of all this was almost frantic, when she 
found that he had thus sacrificed himself to save her. She 
immediately published the whole history of her wrongs, 
and her revenge. Her keen sense of wounded honour was 
in accordance with public sentiment, her wrongs excited 
indignation and compassion, and the knowledge that an in- 
nocent and magnanimous man had been so brutally treated, 
excited a general revulsion of popular feeling. No one 
wished for another victim, and she was left unpunished, 
save by the dreadful records of her memory. 

Few know how numerous are the cases where it has sub- 
sequently been discovered that the innocent suffered in- 
stead of the guilty. Yet one such case in an age is surely 
enough to make legislators pause before they cast a rote 
against the abolition of Capital Punishment. 

But many say, " the Old Testament requires blood for 
blood." So it requires that a woman should be put to 
death for adult(^ry ; and men for doing work on the Sab- 
bath ; and children for cursing their parents ; and " If an 
ox were to push with his horn, in time past, and it hath 
10 



21S LETTERS 

been testified to his owner, and he hath not kept him in, 
but that he hath killed a man or a woman, the ox shall be 
stoned, and his owner also shall be put to death." The 
commands given to the Jews, in the old dispensation, do 
not form the basis of any legal code in Christendom. They 
could not form the basis of any civilized code. If one com- 
mand is binding on our consciences, all are binding ; for 
they all rest on the same authority. They who feel bound 
to advocate capital punishment for murder, on account of 
the law given to Moses, ought, for the same reason, to in- 
sist that children should be executed for striking or cursing 
their parents. 

•' It was said by them of old time, an eye for an eye, and 
a tooth for a tooth ; but / say unto you resist not evil." 
If our " eyes were lifted up," we should see, not Moses and 
Elias, but Jesus onh/. 



LETTER XXXII. 

November 26, 1842. 

Every year of my life I grow more and more convinced 
that it is wisest and best to fix our attention on the beauti- 
ful and good, and dwell as little as possible on the evil and 
the false. Society has done my spirit grievous wrong, for 
the last few weeks, with its legal bull-baitings, and its hired 
murderers. They have made me ashamed of belonging to 
the human species ; and were it not that I struggled hard 
against it, and prayed earnestly for a spirit of forgiveness, 
they would have made me hate my race. Yet feeling thus, 
I did wrong to them. Most of them had merely caught the 
contagion of murder, and really were not aware of the na- 
ture of the fiend they harboured. Probably there was not 



FROM NEW. YORK. 219 

a single heart in the community, not even the most brutal, 
that would not have been softened, could it have entered 
into confidential intercourse with the prisoner, as Dr. An- 
thon did. All would then have learned that he was a hu- 
man being, with a heart to be melted, and a conscience to 
be roused, like the rest of us ; that under the turbid and surg- 
ing tide of proud, exasperated feelings, ran a warm current of 
human affections, which, with more genial influences, might 
have flowed on deeper and stronsfer, minorlino; its waters 
with the river of life. All this each one would have known, 
could he have looked into the heart of the poor criminal as 
God looketh. But his whole life was judged by a despe- 
rate act, done in the insanity of passion ; and the motives and 
the circumstances were revealed to the public only through 
the cold barbarisms of the law, and the fierce exaggerations 
of an excited populace ; therefore he seemed like a wild 
beast, walled out from human sympathies, — not as a fel- 
low-creature, with like passions and feelings as themselves. 

Carlyle, in his French Revolution, speaking of one of 
the three bloodiest judges of the Reign of Terror, says: 
*' Marat too, had a brother, and natural affections ; and was 
wrapt once in swaddling-clothes, and slept safe in a cradle, 
like the rest of us." We are too apt to forget these gentle 
considerations when talking of public criminals. 

If we looked into our souls with a more wise humility, 
we should discover in our own ungoverned anger the germ 
of murder ; and meekly thank God that we, too, had not 
been brought into temptations too fiery for our strength. It 
is sad to think how the records of a few evil days may blot 
out from the memory of our fellow-men whole years of 
generous thoughts and deeds of kindness ; and this, too, 
when each one has before him the volume of his own broken 
resolutions, and oft-repeated sins. The temptation which 
most easily besets you, needed, perhaps, to be only a little 
stronger ; you needed only to be surrounded by circumstan- 



220 LETTERS 

ces a Uttle more dangerous and exciting, and perhaps you, 
who now walk abroad in the sunshine of respectability, 
might have come under the ban of human laws, as you 
have into frequent disobedience of the divine ; and then 
that one foul blot would have been regarded as the hiero- 
glyphic symbol of your whole life. Between you and the 
inmate of the penitentiary, society sees a difference so 
great, that you are scarcely recognized as belonging to 
the same species ; but there is One who judgeth not as 
man judgeth. 

When Mrs. Fry spoke at Newgate, she was wont to ad- 
dress both prisoners and visiters as sinners. When Dr. 
Channing alluded to this practice, she meekly replied^ " In 
the sight of God, there is not, perhaps, so much difference 
as men think." In the midst of recklessness, revenge and 
despair, there is often a glimmering evidence that the di- 
vine spark is not quite extinguished. Who can tell into 
what a holy flame of benevolence and self-sacrifice it might 
have been kindled, had the man been surrounded from his 
cradle by an atmosphere of love ? 

Surely these considerations should make us judge mer- 
cifully of the sinner, while we hate the sin with tenfold in- 
tensity, because it is an enemy that lies in wait for us all. 
The highest and holiest example teaches us to forgive all 
crimes, while we palliate none. 

Would that we could learn to be kind — always and every- 
where kind ! Every jealous thought I cherish, every 
angry word I utter, every repulsive tone, is helping to build 
penitentiaries and prisons, and to fill them with those who 
merely carry the same passions and feelings farther than I 
do. It is an awful thought ; and the more it is impressed 
upon me, the more earnestly do I pray to live in a state of 
perpetual benediction. 

" Love hath a longing and a power to save the gathered world, 

And rescue universal man from the hunting heU-houndsof his doings." 



FROM NEW-YORK. 221 

And so I return, as the old preachers used to say, to my 
first proposition ; that we should think gently of all, and 
claim kindred with all, and include all, without exception, 
in the circle of our kindly sympathies. I would not thrust 
out even the hangman, though methinks if I were dying of 
thirst, I would rather wait to receive water from another 
hand than his. Yet what is the hangman but a servant of 
the law? And what is the law but an expression of public 
opinion ? And if public opinion be brutal, and thou a com- 
ponent part thereof, art thou not the hangman's accomplice 1 
In the name of our common Father, sing thy part of the 
great chorus in the truest time, and thus bring this crash- 
ing discord into harmony ! 

And if at times, the discord proves too strong for thee, 
go out into the great temple of Nature, and drink in fresh- 
ness from her never-failing fountain. The devices of men 
pass away as a vapour ; but she changes never. Above all 
fluctuations of opinion, and all the tumult of the passions, 
she smiles ever, in various but unchanging beauty. I have 
gone to her with tears in my eyes, with a heart full of the 
saddest forebodings, for myself and all the human race ; and 
lo, she has shown me a babe plucking a white clover, with 
busy, uncertain little fingers, and the child walked straight 
into my heart, and prophesied as hopefully as an angel ; 
and I believed her, and went on my way rejoicing. The 
language of nature, like that of music, is universal ; it speaks 
to the heart, and is understood by all. Dialects belong to 
clans and sects ; tones to the universe. High above all 
language, floats music on its amber cloud. It is not the 
exponent of opinion, but oi feeling. The heart made it; 
therefore it is infinite. It reveals more than language can 
ever utter, or thoughts conceive. And high as music is 
above mere dialects — winging its godlike way, while verbs 
and nouns go creeping — even so, sounds the voice of Love, 



222 LETTERS 

that clear, treble-note of the universe, into the heart of man, 
and the ear of Jehovah. 

In sincere humility do I acknowledge that if I am less 
guilty than some of my human brothers, it is mainly be- 
cause I have been beloved. Kind emotions and impulses 
have not been sent back to me, like dreary echoes, through 
empty rooms. All around me, at this moment, are tokens 
of a friendly heart-warmth. A sheaf of dried grasses brings 
near the gentle image of one who gathered them for love ; 
a varied group of the graceful lady-fern tells me of sum- 
mer rambles in the woods, by one who mingled thoughts 
of me with all her glimpses of nature's beauty. A rose- 
bush, from a poor Irish woman, speaks to me of her bless- 
ings. A bird of paradise, sent by friendship, to warm the 
wintry hours with thoughts of sunny Eastern climes, cheers 
me with its Jfloating beauty, like a fairy fancy. Flower- 
tokens from the best of neighbours, have come all summer 
long, to bid me a blithe good morning, and tell me news of 
sunshine and fresh air. A piece of sponge, graceful as if 
it ofrew on the arms of the wave, reminds me of Grecian 
seas, and of Hylas borne away by water-nymphs. It was 
given me for its uncommon beauty ; and who will not try 
harder to be good, for being deemed a fit recipient of the 
beautiful 1 A root, which promises to bloom into fragrance, 
is sent by an old Quaker lady, whom I know not, but who 
says, " I would fain minister to thy love of flowers." Affec- 
tion sends childhood to peep lovingly at me from engravings, 
or stand in classic grace, embodied in the little plaster cast. 
The far-off and the near, the past and the future, are with 
me in my humble apartment. True, the mementoes cost 
little of the world's wealth ; for they are of the simplest 
kind; but they express the universe — because they are 
thoughts of love, clothed in forms of beauty. 

Why do I mention these things ? From vanity 1 Nay, 
verily ; for it often humbles me to tears, to think how much 



FROM NEW- YORK. 223 

I am loved more than I deserve ; while thousands, far near- 
er to God, pass on their thorny path, comparatively imcheer- 
ed by love and blessing. But it came into my heart to tell 
you how much these things helped me to be good ; how 
they were like roses dropped by unseen hands, guiding me 
through a wilderness-path unto our Father's mansion. And 
the love that helps me to be good, I would have you 
bestow upon all, that all may become good. To love others 
is greater happiness than to be beloved by them ; to do 
good is more blessed than to receive. The heart of Jesus 
was so full of love, that he called little children to his arms, 
and folded John upon his bosom ; and this love made him 
capable of such divine self-renunciation, that he could offer 
up even his life for the good of the world. The desire to 
be beloved is ever restless and unsatisfied ; but the love 
that flows out upon others is a perpetual well-spring from 
on high. This source of happiness is within the reach of 
all ; here, if not elsewhere, may the stranger and the friend- 
less satisfy the infinite yearnings of the human heart, and 
find therein refreshment and joy. 

Believe me, the great panacea for all the disorders in the 
universe, is Love. For thousands of years the world has 
gone on perversely, tryinsj to overcome evil with evil; with 
the worst results, as the condition of things plainly testifies. 
Nearly two thousand years ago, the prophet of the Highest 
proclaimed that evil could be overcome only with good. 
But *' when the Son of Man cometh, shall he find faith on 
the earth ?" If we have faith in this holy principle, where 
is it written on our laws or our customs ? 

Write it on thine own life ; and men reading it shall say, 
lo, something greater than vengeance is here ; a power 
mightier than coercion. And thus the individual faith shall 
become a social faith; and to the mountains of crime around 
us, it will say, " Be thou removed, and cast into the depths 



224 LETTERS 

of the sea !" and they will be removed ; and the places that 
knew them shall know them no more. 

This hope is coming toward us, with a halo of sunshine 
round its head ; in the light it casts before, let us do works 
of zeal with the spirit of love. Man may be redeemed from 
his thraldom ! He will be redeemed. For the mouth of 
the Most High hath spoken it. It is inscribed in written 
prophecy, and He utters it to our hearts in perpetual reve- 
lation. To you, and me, and each of us. He says, " Go, 
bring my people out of Egypt, into the promised land." 

To perform this mission, we must love both the evil and 
the good, and shower blessings on the just as well as the 
unjust. Thanks to our Heavenly Father, I have had much 
friendly aid on my own spiritual pilgrimage ; through many 
a cloud has pierced a sunbeam, and over many a pitfall 
have I been guided by a garland. In gratitude for this, fain 
would I help others to be good, according to the small 
measure of my ability. My spiritual adventures are like 
those of the "little boy that run away from Providence.'' 
When troubled or discouraged, my soul seats itself on some 
door-step — there is ever some one to welcome me in, and 
make " a nice little bed" for my weary heart. It may be 
a young friend, who gathers for me flowers in Summer, and 
grasses, ferns, and red berries in the Autumn ; or it may be 
sweet Mary Howitt, whose mission it is " to turn the sunny 
side of things to human eyes ;" or Charles Dickens, who 
looks with such deep and friendly glance into the human 
heart, whether it beats beneath embroidered vest, or tatter- 
ed jacket ; or the serene and gentle Fenelon ; or the devout 
Thomas a Kempis ; or the meek-spirited John Woolman ; 
or the eloquent hopefulness of Channing ; or the cathedral 
tones of Keble, or the saintly beauty of Raphael, or the 
clear melody of Handel. All speak to me with friendly 
greeting, and have somewhat to give my thirsty soul. Fain 
would I do the same, for all who come to my door-step, 



FROM NEW. YORK. 225 

hungry, and cold, spiritually or naturally. To the erring 
and the guilty, above all others, the door of my heart shall 
never open outward. I have too much need of mercy. Are 
we not all children of the same Father ? and shall we not 
pity those who among pit-falls lose their way home ? 



LETTER XXXIII. 

December 8, 1842. 

I went, last Sunday, to the Catholic Cathedral, a fine- 
looking Gothic edifice, which impressed me with that feel- 
ing of reverence so easily inspired in my soul by a relic of 
the past. I have heard many say that their first visit to a 
Catholic church filled them with laughter, the services 
seemed so absurd a mockery. It was never thus with me. 
I know not whether it is that Nature endowed me so large- 
ly with imagination and with devotional feelings, or whe- 
ther it is because I slept for years with " Thomas a Kem- 
pis's Imitation of Christ" under my pillow, and found it 
my greatest consolation, and best outward guide, next to 
the New-Testament ; but so it is, that holy old monk is 
twined all about my heart with loving reverence, and the 
forms which had so deep spiritual significance to him, 
could never excite in me a mirthful feeling. Then the 
mere circumstance of antiquity is impressive to a character 
inclined to veneration. There stands the image of what 
was once a living church. A sort of Congress of Religions 
is she ; with the tiara of the Persian priest, the staff' of 
the Roman auour, and the embroidered mantle of the Jew- 
ish rabbi. This is all natural ; for the Christian Idea was 
a resurrection from deceased Heathenism and Judaism, 
and rose encumbered with the grave-clothes and jewels of 
the dead. The Greek and Roman, when they became 
10* 



226 LETTERS 

Christian, still clung fondly to the reminiscences of their 
early faith. The undying flame on Apollo's shrine re- 
appeared in ever-lighted candles on the Christian altar ; 
and the same idea that demanded vestal virgins for the 
heathen temple, set nuns apart for the Christian sanctuary. 
Tiara and embroidered garments were sacred to the ima- 
gination of the converted Sew ; and conservatism, which 
in man's dual nature ever keeps innovation in check, led 
him to adopt them in his new worship. Thus did the spi- 
rituality of Christ come to us loaded with forms, not natu- 
rally and spontaneously flowing therefrom. The very 
cathedrals, with their clustering columns and intertwining 
arches, were architectural models of the groves and " high- 
places," sacred to the mind of the Pagans, who from in- 
fancy had therein worshipped their " strange gods.'' The 
days of the Christian week took the names of heathen 
deities, and statues of Venus were adored as Virgin Mothers. 
The bronze image of St. Peter, at Rome, whose toe has 
been kissed away by devotees, was once a statue of Jupiter. 
An English traveller took off" his hat to it as Jupiter, and 
asked him, if he ever recovered his power, to reward the 
only individual that ever bowed to him in his adversity. 

Let us not smile at this odd commingling of religious 
faiths and forms. It is most natural ; and must ever be, 
when a new idea evolves itself from the old. The Reform- 
ers, to evade this tendency, destroyed the churches, the 
paintings, and the statues, which habit had so long endear- 
ed to the hearts and imaginations of men ; yet while they 
flung away, with ruthless hand, all the poetry of the old 
establishment, they were themselves so much the creatures 
of education, that they brought into the new order of things 
many cumbrous forms of theology, the mere results of tra- 
dition ; and the unpretending fishermen, and tent-maker, 
still remained Saint Peter, and Saint Paul. 

Protestants make no images of Moses ; but many divide 



FROM NEW. YORK. 227 

the homage of Christ with him, and spiritually kiss his 
toe. Thus will the glory of a coming church walk in the 
shadow of our times, casting a radiance over that which it 
cannot quite dispel. 

I think it is Mosheim, who says, " After Christianity be- 
came incorporated with the government, it is difficult to de- 
termine whether Heathenism was most Christianized, or 
Christianity most heathenized." 

Wo for the hour, when moral truth became wedded to 
politics, and religion was made to subserve purposes of 
Slate ! That prostration of reason to authority still fetters 
the extremest Protestant of the nineteenth century, after the 
lapse of more than a thousand years, and a succession of 
convulsive eflbrts to throw it off. That boasted " triumph 
of Christianity" came near being its destruction. The old 
fable of the Pleiad fallen from the sky, by her marriao-e 
with an earth-born prince, is full of significance, in many 
applications ; and in none more so, than the attempt to ad- 
vance a spiritual principle by political machinery. Con- 
stantine legalized Christianity, and straightway the powers 
of this world made it their tool. To this day, two-thirds of 
Christians look outward to ask whether a thing is law, and 
not inward to ask whether it is right. They have mere 
legal consciences ; and do not perceive that human law is 
sacred only when it is the expression of a divine principle. 
To them, the slave trade is justifiable while the law sanc- 
tions it, and becomes piracy when the law pronounces it 
so. The moral principle that changes laws, never ema- 
nates from them. It acts on them, but never with them. 
They through whom it acts, constitute the real church of 
the world, by whatsoever name they are called. 

The Catholic church is a bad foundation for liberty, civil 
or religious. I deprecats its obvious and undeniable ten- 
dency to enslave the human mind ; but I marvel not that 
the imaginations of men are chained and led captive by this 



228 LETTERS 

Tision of the Past ; for it is encircled ail around with p>€try, 
as with a halo : and within its fantastic pageantry there is 
much that makes it sacred poeiry. 

At the present time, indicauons are numerocs that the 
Inman mind is tired out in the grmnasiiim of controversy, 
and asks earnestly for repose, protection, mystery, and un- 
doubting faith. This tendency betrays itself in the rainbow 
mvsucism of Coleridge, the pijtriarchal tenderness of \^ ords- 
worth, the infinite aspiration of Beethoven. The reverential 
habit of mind varies its forms, according to temperament and 
character. In some minds, it sliows itsell' in a superstitious 
fondness for ail ad forms of belief; the Church which is 
proved to their minds to resemble the apostolic, in its riteial, 
as well as its creed, is therefore the true Church. In other 
minds, veneration takes a form less obviously religious ; it 
is shown by a strong affection for everything antique : they 
worship shadowy legends, architectur;!] ruins, and ancient 
customs. This habit of thought enabled Sir Walter to coa- 
jure up the guardian spirit of the house of Atenel, and re- 
pec^le the regal hails of Keniiwonh. His works were the 
final efiiorescence of feudal grandeur : that system had 
passed away trooi political forms, and no longer had a home 
in human reason ; but it lingered with a dim slorv in die 
imagination, and blossomed thus. 

Another class of minds rise to a higher plane of rcTC- 
rence ; their passkni for the past becomes mingled with earn- 
est aspiration for the holy. Such spirits walk in a golden 
fog of mysiicism. which leads them far, often onlv to brin«r 
thera back in a circling pa^h to the faiia of childhood, and 
the established laws of the realm. 

To such, Puseyism comes forward, like a tne eld cathe- 
dral made visible by a gush of moonlight. It appeals to 
the ancient, the venerable, and the moss-srrown. It promi- 
ses permanent repose in the midst ot endle^ agitation. 
The young, the poetic, and the mTstical are rhaniwy^ with 



FROM XEW-YORK. 229 

"the dim religious light" from its painted oriels ; they en- 
ter its Gothic aisles, resounding with the echoes of the past ; 
and the solemn glory tills them with worship. Episcopacy 
rebukes, and dissenters argue ; but that which ministers to 
the sentiment of reverence, will have power over many 
souls, who hunt in vain for truths through the mazes of ar- 
gument. To the ear that loves music, and sits listening in- 
tently for the voice that speaks while the dove descends 
from heaven, how discordant, how altogether unprofitable, 
is this hammering of sects ! — this coopering and heading up 
of empty barrels, so industriously carried on in theological 
schools ! When I am stunned by the loud, andmany-tongued 
jargon of sect, I no longer wonder that men are ready 
to fall down and worship Romish absurdities, dressed up 
in purple robes and golden crown ; the marvel rather is, 
that they have not returned to the worship of the ancient 
graces, the sun, the moon, the stars, or even the element 
of tire. 

But be not disturbed by Pope or Pusey. They are but 
a part of the check-and-balance system of the universe, 
and in due time will yield to something better. ]Modes of 
faith last just as long as they are needed in the order of 
Providence, and not a dav lonorer. Let the theologian 
fume and fret as he may, truth cannot be forced above its 
level, any more than its great prototype, water. Of what 
avail are sectarian efforts, and controversial words ? Live 
thou a holy lite — let thy utterance be that of a free, meek 
spirit! Thus, and not by ecclesiastical machinery, wilt 
thou help to prepare the world for a wiser faith and a purer 
worship. 

]Meanwhile, let us hope and trust ; and respect sincere 
devotion, wheresoever found. A wise mind never despises 
aught that flows trom a feeling heart. Nothing would tempt 
me to disturb, even by the rustle of my garments, the Irish 
servant girl, kneeling in the crowded aisle. Blessed be 



230 LETTERS 

any power, which, even for a moment, brings the human 
soul to the foot of the cross, conscious of its weakness and its 
ignorance, its errors and its sins ! We may call it supersti- 
tion if we will, but the zealous faith of the Catholic is every- 
where conspicuous above that of the Protestant. A friend 
from Canada lately told me an incident which deeply im- 
pressed this fact upon his mind. When they cut new roads 
through the woods, the priests are in the habit of inspect- 
ing all the places where villages are to be laid out. They 
choose the finest site for a church, and build thereon a 
high, strong cross, with railings round it, about three feet 
distant from each other. The inner enclosure is usually 
more elevated than the outer ; a mound being raised about 
the foot of the Cross. Inserted in the main timber is a 
small image of the crucified Saviour, defended from the at- 
mosphere by glass. In Catholic countries, this is called 
a Calvare. In the village called Petit Brule (because 
nearly all the dwellings of the first settlers had been con- 
sumed by fire) was one of these tall Calvares, rendered con- 
spicuous by its whiteness among the dense foliage of the 
forest. My friend had been riding for a long time in silence 
and solitude, and twilight was fast deepening into evening, 
when his horse suddenly reared, and showed signs of fear. 
Thinking it most prudent to understand the nature of the 
danger that awaited him, he stopped the horse and looked 
cautiously round. The tall white Cross stood near, in 
distinct relief against the dark back-ground of the forest, 
and at the foot were two Irishmen kneeling to say their 
evening prayers. They were poor, labouring men, employ- 
ed in making the road. There was no human habitation 
for miles. From their own rude shantees, they must have 
walked at least two or three miles, after their severe daily 
toil, thus to bow down and worship the Infinite, in a place 
they deemed holy ! 

Let those who can, ridicule the superstition that prompt- 



FROM NEW. YORK. 291 

ed such an act. Hereafter, may angels teach what remain- 
ed unrevealed to them on earth, that Christ is truly wor- 
shipped, ''neither on this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem." 

I love the Irish. Blessings on their warm hearts, and 
their leaping fancies ! Clarkson records that while oppo- 
sition met him in almost every form, not a single Irish mem- 
ber of the British Parliament ever voted against the aboli- 
tion of the slave trade ; and how is the heart of that gener- 
ous island now throbbing with sympathy for the American 
slave ! 

Creatures of impulse and imagination, their very speech 
is poetry. " What are you going to kill ?" said I to one of 
the most stupid of Irish serving-maids, who seemed in great 
haste to crush some object in the corner of the room. *' A 
hlsLckboog, ma'am," she replied. "That is a cricket," said 
I. " It does no harm, but makes a friendly chirping on the 
hearth stone." 

" Och, and is it a cricket it is ? And when the night is 
abroad, will it be spaking ? Sure, I'll not be after killing it, 
at all." 

The most faithful and warm-hearted of Irish labourers, 
(and the good among them are the best on earth) urged me 
last spring not to fail, by any means, to rise before the sun 
on Easter morning. " The Easter sun always dances 
when it rises," said he. Assuredly he saw no mockery in 
my countenance, but perhaps he saw incredulity ; for he 
added, with pleading earnestness, " And why should it not 
dance, by reason of rejoicement ?" In his believing ignor- 
ance, he had small cause to envy me the superiority of my 
reason ; at least I felt so for the moment. Beautiful is the 
superstition that makes all nature hail the holy ; that sees 
the cattle all kneel at the hour Christ was born, and the 
sun dance, " by reason of rejoicement," on the morning of 
his resurrection ; that believes the dark Cross, actually 
found on the back of every Ass, was first placed there when 



232 LETTERS 

Jesus rode into Jerusalem with Palm-branches strewed be- 
fore him. 

Not in vain is Ireland pouring itself all over the earth. 
Divine Providence has a mission for her children to fulfil ; 
though a mission unrecognized by political economists. 
There is ever a moral balance preserved in the universe, 
like the vibrations of the pendulum. The Irish, with their 
glowing hearts and reverent credulity, are needed in this 
cold age of intellect and scepticism. 

Africa furnishes another class, in whom the heart ever 
takes guidance of the head ; and all over the world the 
way is opening for them among the nations. Hayti and 
the British West Indies ; Algiers, settled by the French; 
British colonies, spreading over the west and south of Afri- 
ca ; and emancipation urged throughout the civilized world. 

Women, too, on whose intellect ever rests the warm 
light of the aflections, are obviously coming into a wider 
and wider field of action. 

All these things prophesy of physical force yielding to 
moral sentiment ; and they all are agents to fulfil what they 
prophesy. God speed the hour. 



LETTER XXXIV: 

January, 1843. 

You ask what are my opinions about " Women's Rights." 
I confess, a strong distaste to the subject, as it has been 
generally treated. On no other theme, probably, has there 
been uttered so much of false, mawkish sentiment, shallow 
philosophy, and sputtering, farthing- can die wit. If the 
style of its advocates has often been oflensive to taste, and 
unacceptable to reason, assuredly that of its opponents have 
been still more so. College boys have amused themselves 



FROM NEW-YORK. 233 

with writing dreams, in which they saw women in hotels, 
with their feet hoisted, and chairs tilted back, or growling 
and bickering at each other in legislative halls, or fighting at 
the polls, with eyes blackened by fisticuffs. But it never 
seems to have occurred to these facetious writers, that the 
proceedings which appear so ludicrous and improper in 
women, are also ridiculous and disgraceful in men. It were 
well that men should learn not to hoist their feet above their 
heads, and tilt their chairs backward, not to growl and snap 
in the halls of legislation, or give each other black eyes 
at the polls. 

Maria Edgeworth says, " We are disgusted when we 
see a woman's mind overwhelmed with a torrent of learn- 
ing ; that the tide of literature has passed over it should be 
betrayed only by its fertility." This is beautiful and true ; 
but is it not likewise applicable to man ? The truly great 
never seek to display themselves. If they carry their heads 
high above the crowd, it is only made manifest to others by 
accidental revelations of their extended vision. "Human 
duties and proprieties do not lie so very far apart," said 
Harriet Martineau ; " if they did, there would be two gos- 
pels, and two teachers, one for man, and another for woman." 

It would seem, indeed, as if men were willing to give 
women the exclusive benefit of gospel-teaching. *' Women 
should be gentle," say the advocates of subordination ; but 
when Christ said, " Blessed are the meek," did he preach 
to women only ? " Girls should be modest," is the lan- 
guage of common teaching, continually uttered in words 
and customs. Would it not be an improvement for men, 
also, to be scrupulously pure in manners, conversation, and 
life ? Books addressed to young married people abound 
with advice to the icife, to control her temper, and never 
to utter wearisome complaints, or vexatious words, when 
the husband comes home fretful or unreasonable, from his 
out-of-door conflicts with the world. Would not the advice 



234 LETTERS 

be as excellent and appropriate, if the husband were advis- 
ed to conquer his fretfulness, and forbear his complaints, in 
consideration of his wife's ill. health, fatiguing cares, and 
the thousand disheartening influences of domestic routine ? 
In short, whatsoever can be named as loveliest, best, and 
most graceful in woman, would likewise be good and 
graceful in man. You will perhaps remind me of courage. 
If you use the word in its highest signification, I answer 
that woman, above others, has abundant need of it, in 
hex pilgrimage ; and the true woman wears it with a quiet 
grace. If you mean mere animal courage, that is not men- 
tioned in the Sermon on the Mount, among those qualities 
which enable us to inherit the earth, or become the chil- 
dren of God. That the feminine ideal approaches much 
nearer to the gospel standard, than the prevalent idea of 
manhood, is shown by the universal tendency to represent 
the Saviour and his most beloved disciple with mild, meek 
expression, and feminine beauty. None speak of the 
bravery, the might, or the intellect of Jesus ; but the devil 
is always imagined as a being of acute intellect, political 
cunning, and the fiercest courage. These universal and 
instinctive tendencies of the human mind reveal much. 

That the present position of women in society is the result 
of physical force, is obvious enough ; whosoever doubts it, 
let her reflect why she is afraid to go out in the evening with- 
out the protection of a man. What constitutes the danger of 
aggression ? Superior physical strength, uncontrolled by 
the moral sentiments. If physical strength were in com- 
plete subjection to moral influence, there would be no need 
of outward protection. That animal instinct and brute 
force now govern the world, is painfully apparent in the 
condition of women everywhere ; from the Morduan Tar- 
tars, whose ceremony of marriage consists in placing the 
bride on a mat, and consigning her to the bridegroom, with 
the words, " Here, wolf, take thy lamb," — to the German 



FROM NEW. YORK. 235 

remark, that " stiff ale, stinging tobacco, and a girl in her 
smart dress, are the best things." The same thing, soft- 
ened by the refinements of civilization, peeps out in Ste- 
phen's remark, that " woman never looks so interesting, as 
when leaning on the arm of a soldier:" and in Hazlitt's 
complaint that " it is not easy to keep up a conversation with 
women in company. It is thought a piece of rudeness to 
differ from them ; it is not quite fair to ask them a reason for 
what they say." 

This sort of politeness to women is what men call gal- 
lantry ; an odious word to every sensible woman, because 
she sees that it is merely the flimsy veil which foppery 
throws over sensuality, to conceal its grossness. So far 
is it from indicating sincere esteem and affection for wo- 
men, that the profligacy of a nation may, in general, be 
'fairly measured by its gallantry. This taking away rights, 
and condescending to grant i;rivileges, is an old trick 
of the physical force principle ; and with the immense 
majority, who only look on the surface of things, this mask 
effectually disguises an ugliness, which would otherwise 
be abhorred. The most inveterate slaveholders are pro- 
bably those who take most pride in dressing their house- 
hold servants handsomely, and who would be most asham- 
ed to have the name of being unnecessarily cruel. And 
profligates, who form the lowest and most sensual estimate 
of women, are the very ones to treat them with an excess 
of outward deference. 

There are few books, which I can read through, without 
feeling insulted as a woman ; but this insult is almost uni- 
versally conveyed through that which was intended for 
praise. Just imagine, for a moment, what impression it 
would make on men, if women authors should write about 
their " rosy lips," and " melting eyes," and " voluptuous 
forms," as they write about us ! That women in general 
do not feel this kind of flattery to be an insult, I readily ad- 



236 LETTERS 

mit ; for, in the first place, they do not perceive the gross 
chattelprinciple, of which it is the utterance ; moreover, 
they have, from long habit, become accustomed to consider 
themselves as household conveniences, or gilded toys. 
Hence, they consider it feminine and pretty to abjure all 
such use of their faculties, as would make them co-workers 
with man in the advancement of those great principles, on 
which the progress of society depends. " There is per- 
haps no animal,^'' say Hannah More, " so much indebted 
to subordination, for its good behaviour, as woman." Alas, 
for the animal age, in which such utterance could be tole. 
rated by public sentiment ! 

Martha More, sister of Hannah, describing a very im- 
pressive scene at the funeral of one of her Charity School 
teachers, says : '' The spirit within seemed struggling to 
speak, and I was in a sort of agony ; but I recollected that 
I had heard, somewhere, a woman must not speak in 
the church. Oh, had she been buried in the church yard, 
a messenger from JMr. Pitt himself should not have re- 
strained me ; for I seemed to have received a message 
from a higher Master within." 

This application of theological teaching carries its own 
commentary. 

I have said enough to show that I consider prevalent 
opinions and customs highly unfavourable to the moral and 
intellectual development of women : and I need not say, 
that, in proportion to their true culture, women will be more 
useful and happy, and domestic life more perfected. True 
culture, in them, as in men, consists in the full and free 
development of individual character, regulated by their otcn 
perceptions of what is true, and their oicn love of what is 
good. 

This individual responsibility is rarely acknowledged, 
even by the most refined, as necessary to the spiritual pro- 
gress of women. I once heard a very beautiful lecture 



FROM NEW-YORK. 237 

from R. \V. Emerson, on Being and Seeming. In the 
course of many remarks, as true as they were graceful, he 
urged women to he, rather than seem. He told them that 
all their laboured education of forms, strict observance of 
genteel etiquette, tasteful arrangement of the toilette, &c. 
all this seeming would not gain hearts like being truly 
what God made them ; that earnest simplicity, the sin- 
cerity of nature, would kindle the eye, light up the coun- 
tenance, and give an inexpressible charm to the plainest 
features. 

The advice was excellent, but the motive, by which it 
was urged, brought a flush of indignation over my face. 
Men were exhorted to &e, rather than to seem, that they 
might fulfil the sacred mission for which their souls were 
embodied ; that they might, in God's freedom, grow up into 
the full stature of spiritual manhood ; but tcomen were urged 
to simplicity and truthfulness, that they might become more 
pleasing. 

Are we not all immortal beings? Is not each one re- 
sponsible for himself and herself? There is no measuring 
the mischief done by the prevailing tendency to teach wo- 
men to be virtuous as a duty to man, rather than to God — 
for the sake of pleasing the creature, rather than the 
Creator. " God is thy law, thou mine," said Eve to Adam. 
May Milton be forgiven for sending that thought " out into 
everlasting time" in such a jewelled setting. What weak- 
ness, vanity, frivolity, infirmity of moral purpose, sinful 
flexibility of principle — in a word, what soul-stifling, has 
been the result of thus putting man in the place of God ! 

But while I see plainly that society is on a false founda- 
tion, and that prevailing views concerning women indicate 
the want of wisdom and purity, which they serve to per- 
petuate — still, I must acknowledge that much of the talk 
about Women's Rights offends both my reason and my 
taste. I am not of those who maintain there is no sex in 



898 LETTERS 

souls ; nor do I like the results deducible from that doctrine. 
Kinmont, in his admirable book, called the Natural His- 
tory of Man, speaking of the warlike courage of the ancient 
German women, and of their being respectfully consulted 
on important public affairs, says : "You ask me if I con- 
sider all this right, and deser^-ing of approbation ? or that 
women were here engaged in their appropriate tasks ? I 
answer, yes ; it is just as right that they should take this 
interest in the honour of their country, as the other sex. 
Of course, I do not think that women were made for war 
and battle : neither do I believe that men were. But since 
the fashion of the times had made it so, and settled it that 
war was a necessary element of greatness, and that no 
safety was to be procured without it, I argue that it shows a 
healthful state of feeling in other respects, that the feelings 
of both sexes were equally enlisted in the cause ; that there 
was no division in the house, or the State : and that the 
serious pursuits and objects of the one were also the serious 
pursuits and objects of the other." 

The nearer society approaches to divine order, the less 
separation will there be in the characters, duties, and pur- 
suits of men and women. Women will not become less 
gentle and graceful, but men will become more so. Wo- 
men will not neslect the care and education of their chil- 
dren, but men will find themselves ennobled and refined by 
sharing those duties with them ; and will receive, in return, 
co-operation and sympathy in the discharge of various 
other duties, now deemed inappropriate to women. The 
more women become rational companions, partners in busi- 
ness and in thought, as well as in affection and amusement, 
the more highly will men appreciate home — that blessed 
word, which opens to the human heart the most perfect 
glimpse of Heaven, and helps to carry it thither, as on an 
angel's wings. 



FROM' NEW-YORK. 239 

" Domestic Hiss, 
That can, the world eluding, be itself 
A world enjoyed ; that wants no witnesses 
But its own sharers, and approving heaven ; 
That, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft. 
Smiles, though 'tis looking only at the sky." 

Alas, for these days of Astor houses, and Tremonts, and 
Albions ! where families exchange comfort for costliness, 
fireside retirement for flirtation and flaunting, and the sim- 
ple, healthful, cozy meal, for gravies and gout, dainties and 
dyspepsia. There is no characteristic of my coimtrymen 
which I regret so deeply, as their slight degree of adhe- 
siveness to home. Closely intertwined with this instinct, 
is the religion of a nation. The Home and the Church 
bear a near relation to each other. The French have no 
such word as home in their language, and I believe they 
are the least reverential and religious of all the Christian 
nations. A Frenchman had been in the habit of visiting a 
lady constantly for several years, and being alarmed at a 
report that she was sought in marriage, he was asked why 
he did not marry her himself. " Marry her !" exclaimed 
he ; " Good heavens ! ichere should I spend my evenings ?" 
The idea of domestic happiness was altogether a foreign 
idea to his soul, like a word that conveyed no meaning. 
Religious sentiment in France leads the same roving life 
as the domestic aff*ections ; breakfasting at one restaura- 
teur's, and supping at another's. When some wag in Bos- 
ton reported that Louis Philippe had sent over for Dr. 
Channing to manufacture a religion for the French people, 
the w4tty significance of the joke was generally appre- 
ciated. 

There is a deep spiritual reason why all that relates to 
the domestic aflections should ever be found in close prox- 
imity with religious faith. The age of chivalry was like- 
wise one of unquestioning veneration, which led to the cru- 



240 LETTERS 

sade for the holy sepulchre. The French Revolution, 
which tore down churches, and voted that there was no 
God, likewise annulled marriage ; and the doctrine that 
there is no sex in souls has usually been urged by those of 
infidel tendencies. Carlyle says : " But what feeling it 
was in the ancient, devout, deep soul, which of marriage 
made a sacrament^ this, of all things in the world, is what 
Diderot will think of for aeons without discovering ; unless, 
perhaps, it were to increase the vestry fees.^^ 

The conviction that woman's present position in society 
is a false one, and therefore re-acts disastrously on the hap- 
piness and improvement of man, is pressing, by slow de- 
grees, on the common consciousness, through all the obsta- 
cles of bigotry, sensuality, and selfishness. As man ap- 
proaches to the truest life, he will perceive more and more 
that there is no separation or discord in their mutual duties. 
They will be one ; but it will be as affection and thought 
are one ; the treble and bass of the same harmonious tune. 



LETTER XXXV. 

February, 1S43. 

A book has been lately published called the Westover 
Manuscripts, written more than a hundred years ago, by 
Col. William Byrd, an old Virginian cavalier, residing at 
Westover, on the north bank of James river. He relates 
the following remarkable circumstance, which powerfully 
arrested my attention, and set in motion thoughts that flew 
beyond the stars, and so I lost sight of them, till they again 
come within my vision, in yonder world, where, as the 
German beautifully expresses it, " we shall find our dreams, 
and only lose our sleep." The writer says : 



FROM NEW-YORK. 241 

" Of all the effects of lightning that ever I heard of, the 
most amazing happened in this country, in the year 1736. 
In the summer of that year, a surgeon of a ship, whose 
name was Davis, came ashore at York, to visit a patient. 
He was no sooner got into the house, but it began to rain, 
with many terrible claps of thunder. When it was almost 
dark, there came a dreadful flash of lightning, which struck 
the surgeon dead, as he was walking about the room, but 
hurt no other person, though several were near him. At 
the same time, it made a large hole in the trunk of a pine 
tree, which grew about ten feet from the window. But 
Avhat was most surprising in this disat^ter was, that on the 
breast of the unfortunate man that was killed, icas the figure 
of a pine tree, as exactly ddln&ated as any limner in the 
world could draw it ; nay, the resemblance went so far as to 
represent the colour of the pine, as well as the figure. The 
lightning must probably have passed through the tree first, 
before it struck the man, and by that means have printed 
the icon of it on his breast. But whatever may have been 
the cause, the effect was certain, and can be attested by a 
cloud of witnesses, who had the curiosity to go and see 
this wonderful phenomenon." 

This lightning daguerreotype aroused within me the old 
inquiry, *' What is electricity? Of what spiritual essence 
is it the form and type ]" Questions that again and again 
have led my soul in such eager chase through the universe, 
to find an answer, that it has come back weary, as if it had 
carried heavy weights, and traversed Saturn's rings, in 
magnetic sleep. Thick clouds come between me and this 
mystery, into which I have searched for years ; but I see 
burning lines of light along the edges, which significantly 
indicate the glory it veils. 

I sometimes think electricity is the medium which puts 
man into relation with all things, enabling him to act on all, 
and receive from all. It is now well established as a scien- 
11 



242 LETTERS 

tific fact, though long regarded as an idle superstition, that 
some men can ascertain the vicinity of water, under ground, 
by means of a divining rod. Thouvenel, and other scien- 
tific men in France, account for it by supposing that " the 
water forms with the earth above it, and the fluids of the 
human body, a galvanic circle.'' The human body is said 
to be one of the best conductors yet discovered, and ner- 
vous or debilitated persons to be better conductors than 
those in sound health. If the body of the operator be a 
very good conductor, the rod in his hand will be forcibly 
drawn toward the earth, whenever he approaches a vein of 
water, that lies near the surface. If silk gloves or stock- 
in^^s are worn, the attraction is interrupted ; and it varies in 
deo-ree, according as any substances between the water and 
the hand of the operator are more or less good conductors 
of the galvanic fluid. 

Everybody knows what a frightful imitation of life 
can be produced in a dead body by the galvanic battery. 

The animal magnetizer often feels as if strength had 
gone out of him ; and it is very common for persons in 
maonetic sleep to speak of bright emanations from the fin- 
o-ers which are making passes over them. 

What is this invisible, all-pervading essence, which thus 
has power to put man into communication with all ? That 
man contains the universe within himself, philosophers con- 
jectured ages ago ; and therefore named him " the micro- 
cosm." If man led a true life, he would, doubtless, come 
into harmonious relation with all forms of being, and thus 
his instincts would be universal, and far more certain and 
perfect, than those of animals. The bird knows what 
plant will cure the bite of a serpent ; and if man led a life 
as true to the laws of his being, as the bird does to Jiers, he 
■would have no occasion to study medicine, for, he would at 
once perceive the medicinal quality of every herb and 
mineral. His inventions are, in fact, oniy discoveries ; for 



FROM NEW-YORK. 243 

all existed, before he applied it, and called it his own. 
The upholsterer-bee had a perfect cutting instrument, ages 
before scissors were invented ; the mason-bee cemented 
pebbles together, for his dwelling, centuries before houses 
were built with stone and mortar ; the wasp of Cayenne 
made her nest of beautiful white card paper, cycles before 
paper was invented ; the lightning knew how to print ima- 
ges, aeons before Monsieur Daguerre found out half the 
process ; viz : the form without the colour ; the bee knew 
how to take up the least possible room in the construction 
of her cells, long before mathematicians discovered that she 
had Avorked out the problem perfectly ; and I doubt not 
fishes had the very best of submarine reflectors, before 
Mrs. Mather invented her ocean telescope, which shows 
a pin distinctly on the muddy bottom of the bay. 

I cannot recall the name of the ancient philosopher, who 
spent his days in watching insects and other animals, that 
he might gather hints to fashion tools ; but the idea has 
long been familiar to my mind, that every conceivable thing 
v/hich has been, or will be invented, already exists in na- 
ture, in some form or other. Man alone can reproduce all 
thinos of creation ; because he contains the whole in 
himself, and all forms of being flow into his, as a common 
centre. 

Of what spiritual thing is electricity the type 1 Is there 
a universal medium by which all things of spirit act on the 
soul, as matter on the body by means of electricity ? And is 
that medium the will, whether of angels or of men? Wonder- 
ful stories are told of early Friends, how they were guided 
by a sudden and powerful impulse, to avoid some particular 
bridge, or leave some particuler house, and subsequent 
events showed that danger was there. Many people con- 
sider this fanaticism ; but I hav^e faith in it. I believe the 
most remarkable of these accounts give but a faint idea of 



244 LETTERS 

the perfection to which man's moral and physical instincts 
might attain, if his life were obedient and true. 

Though in vigorous heaUh, I am habitually affected by 
the weather. I never indulge gloomy thoughts ; but reso- 
lutely turn away my gaze from the lone stubble waving in 
the autumn wind, and think only of the ripe, golden seed 
which the sower will go forth to sow. But when to the 
dreariness of departing summer is added a week of succes- 
sive rains ; when day after day, the earth under foot is 
slippery mud, and the sky overhead like gray marble, then 
my nature yields itself prisoner to utter melancholy. I am 
ashamed to confess it, and hundreds of times have strug- 
gled desperately against it, unwilling to be conquered by 
the elements, looking at me with an " evil eye." But so it 
is — a protracted rain always convinces me that I never did 
any good, and never can do any ; that I love nobody, and 
nobody loves me. I have heard that Dr. Franklin acknow- 
ledges a similar effect on himself, and philosophically con- 
jectures the physical cause. He says animal spirits de- 
pend greatly on the presence of electricity in our bodies ; 
and during long-continued rain, the dampness of the atmos- 
phere absorbs a large portion of it ; for this reason, he ad- 
vises that a silk waistcoat be worn next the skin ; silk being 
a non-conducior of electricity. Perhaps this precaution 
might diminish the number of suicides in the foggy month 
of November, " when Englishmen are so prone to hang 
and drown themselves." 

Animal magnetism is connected, in some unexplained 
way, with electricity. All those who have tried it, are 
aware that there is a metallic feeling occasioned by the 
magnetic passes — a sort of attraction, as one might imagine 
the magnet and the steel to feel when brought near each 
other. The magnetizer passes his hands over the subject, 
■without touching, and at the end of each operation shakes 
them, precisely as if he were conducting off electric fluid. 



FROM NEW. YORK. 245 

If this is the actual effect, the drowsiness, stupor, and final 
insensibility, may be occasioned by a cause similar to that 
which produces heaviness and depression of spirits in rainy 
weather. Whi/ it should be so, in either case, none can 
tell. The most learned have no knowledge what electri- 
city is; they can only tell wJiat it does, not how it does it. 

That the state of the atmosphere has prodigious effect 
on human temperament, is sufficiently indicated by the 
character of nations. The Frenchman owes his sanguine 
hopes, his supple limbs, his untiring vivacity, to a genial 
climate ; to this too, in a great measure, the Italian owes 
his pliant gracefulness and impulsive warmth. The Dutch- 
man, on his level marshes, could never dance La Sylphide ; 
nor the Scotch girl, on her foggy hills, become an impro- 
visatrice. The French dance into everything, on every- 
thing, and over everything ; for they live where the breezes 
dance among vines, and the sun showers down gold to the 
the piper ; and dance they must, for gladsome sympathy. 
We call them of " mercurial " temperament ; according to 
Dr. Franklin's theory, they are surcharged with electricity. 

In language, too, how plainly one perceives the influence 
of climate ! Languages of northern origin abound in con- 
sonants, and sound like clanging metals, or the tipping up 
of a cart-load of stones. The southern languages flow like 
a rill that moves to music ; the liquid vowels so sweetly 
melt into each other. This difference is observable even 
in the dialect of our northern and southern tribes of Indians. 
At the north, we find such words as Carratunk, Scowhe- 
gan, Norridgewock, and Memphremagog ; at the south, Pas- 
cagoula, Santee, and that most musical of all names, Oceola. 

Climate has had its effect, too, on the religious ideas 
of nations. How strongly does the bloody Woden and the 
thundering Thor, of northern mythology, contrast with the 
beautiful Graces and gliding Nymphs of Grecian origin. As 
a general rule, (sometimes affected by local causes,) south- 



246 LETTERS 

em nations cling to the pictured glory of the Catholic 
church, while the northern assimilate better with the se- 
vere plainness of the Protestant. 

If I had been reared from infancy under the cloudless 
sky of Athens, perhaps I might have bounded over the 
earth, as if my " element were air, and music but the echo 
of my steps ;" the caution that looks where it treads, might 
have been changed for the ardent gush of a Sappho's song ; 
the sunbeam might have passed into my soul, and written 
itself on the now thoughtful countenance in perpetual 
smiles. 

Do you complain of this, as you do of phrenology, and 
say that it favours fatalism too much ? I answer, no mat- 
ter what it favours, if it be truth. No two truths ever de- 
voured each other, or ever can. Look among the families 
of your acquaintance — you will see two brothers vigorous, 
intelligent, and enterprising ; the third was like them, till 
he fell on his head, had fits, and was ever after puny and 
stupid. There are two sunny-tempered, graceful girls — 
their sister might have been as cheerful as they, but their 
father died suddenly, before her birth, and the mother's 
sorrow chilled the fountains of her infant life, and she is 
nervous, deformed, and fretful. Is there no fatality, as you 
call it, in this ? Assuredly, we are all, in some degree, 
the creatures of outward circumstance ; but this in nowise 
disturbs the scale of moral responsibility, or prevents 
equality of happiness. Our responsibility consists in the 
use we make of our possessions, not on their extent. Sal- 
vation comes to all through obedience to the light they have, 
be it much or little. Happiness consists not in having 
much, but in wanting no more than we have. The idiot 
is as happy in playing at Jack Straws, or blowing bubbles 
all the livelong day, as Newton was in watching the great 
choral dance of the planets. The same universe lies above 
and around both. " The mouse can drink no more than 



FROM NEW-YORK. 247 

his fill at the mightiest river ;" yet he enjoys his draught as 
well as the elephant. Thus are we all unequal, yet equal. 
That we are, in part, creatures of necessity, who that has 
tried to exert free will, can doubt ? But it is a necessity 
which has power only over the outward, and can neirer 
change evil into good, or good into evil. It may compel 
us to postpone or forbear the good we would fain do, but it 
cannot compel us to commit the evil. 

If a consideration of all these outward influences teach 
us charity for the deficiencies of others, and a strict watch 
over our own weaknesses, they will perform their appro- 
priate office. 

" There is so much of good among the worst, so much of evil in the 

best, 
Such seeming partiaHties in Providence, so many things to lessen and 

expand, 
Yea, and with all man's boast, so little real freedom of his will, 
That to look a little lower than the surface, garb, or dialect, or fashion, 
Thou shalt feebly pronounce for a saint, and faintly condemn for a 

sinner." 



LETTER XXXVI. 

March, 1843, 

I went, a few evenings ago, to the American Museum, 
to see fifteen Indians, fresh from the western forest. Sacs, 
Fox, and lowas ; really important people in their respective 
tribes. Nan-Nouce-Fush-ETo, which means the Bufl'alo 
King, is a famous Sac chief, sixty years old, covered with 
scars, and grim as a Hindoo god, or pictures of the devil 
on a Portuguese contribution box, to help sinners through 
purgatory. It is said that he has killed with his own hand 
one hundred Osages, three Mohawks, two Kas, two Sioux, 



248 LETTERS 

and one Pawnee ; and if we may judge by his organ of 
destructiveness, the story is true ; a more enormous bump 
I never saw in that region of the skull. He speaks nine 
Indian dialects, has visited almost every existing tribe of 
his race, and is altogether a remarkable personage. Mon- 
To-Gah, the White Bear, wears a medal from President 
Monroe, for certain services rendered to the whites. Wa- 
Con-To-Kitch-Er, is an Iowa chief, of grave and thoughtful 
countenance, held in much veneration as the Prophet of 
his tribe. He sees visions, which he communicates to 
them for their spiritual instruction. Among the squaws is 
No-Nos.See, the She Wolf, a niece of the famous Black 
Hawk, and very proud of the relationship ; and Do-Hum- 
Me, the Productive Pumpkin, a very handsome woman, with 
a great deal of heart and happiness in her countenance. 

" Smiles settled on her sun-flecked cheeks, 
Like noon upon the mellow apricot." 

She was married about a fortnight ago, at Philadelphia, to 
Cow-Hick-He, son of the principal chief of the lowas, and 
as noble a specimen of manhood as I ever looked upon. 
Indeed I have never seen a group of human beings so ath- 
letic, well-proportioned, and majestic. They are a keen 
satire on our civilized customs, which produce such feeble 
forms and pallid faces. The unlimited pathway, the broad 
horizon, the free grandeur of the forest, has passed into 
their souls, and so stands revealed in their material forms. 
We who have robbed the Indians of their lands, and worse 
still, of themselves, are very fond of proving their inferiority. 
W^e are told that ihQ facial angle in the 

Caucasian race is - - - - 85 degrees. 
Asiatic - - - - 78 « 

American Indian - - - 73 " 

Ethiopian - " -~i, " - 70 " 

Ourang Ouiang - - - - 67 " 



FROM NEW-YORK. 249 

This simply proves that the Caucasian race, through a 
a succession of ages, has been exposed to influences emi- 
nently calculated to develop the moral and intellectual 
faculties. That they sta.ned first in the race, might have 
been owing to a finer and more susceptible nervous orga- 
nization, originating in climate, perhaps, but serving to 
bring the physical organization into more harmonious re- 
lation with the laws of spiritual reception. But by what- 
ever agency it might have been produced, the nation, or 
race that perceived even one spiritual idea in advance of 
others, would necessarily go on improving in geometric 
ratio, through the lapse of ages. For our Past, we have the 
oriental fervour, gorgeous imagery, and deep reverence of 
the Jews, flowing from that high fountain, the percep- 
tion of the oneness and invisibility of God. From the 
Greeks we receive the very Spirit of Beauty, flowing into 
all forms of Philosophy and Art, encircled by a golden halo 
of Platonism, which 

" Far over many a land and age hath shone, 

And mingles with the light that beams from God's own throne." 

These have been transmitted to us in their own forms, 
and again reproduced through the classic strength and high 
cultivation of Rome, and the romantic minstrelsy and rich 
architecture of the middle ages. Thus we stand, a con- 
gress of ages, each with a glory on its brow, peculiar to it- 
self, yet in part reflected from the glory that went before. 

But what have the African savage, and the wandering 
Indian for their Past ? To fight for food, and grovel in the 
senses, has been the employment of their ancestors. The 
Past reproduced in them, mostly belongs to the animal part 
of our mixed nature. They have indeed come in con- 
tact with the race on which had dawned higher ideas ; but 
how have they come in contact ? As victims, not as impils. 
Rum, gunpowder, the horrors of slavery, the unblushing 
knavery of trade, these ^have been their teachers ! And 
11* 



250 LETTERS 

because these have failed to produce a high degree of 
moral and intellectual cultivation, we coolly declare that 
the neoToes are made for slaves, that the Indians cannot be 
civilized ; and that when either of the races come in con- 
tact with us, they must either consent to be our beasts of 
burden, or be driven to the wall, and perish. 

That the races of mankind are different, spiritually as 
well as physically, there is, of course, no doubt ; but it is as 
the difference between trees of the same forest, not as 
between trees and minerals. The facial angle and shape 
of the head, is various in races and nations ; but these are 
the effects of spiritual influences, long operating on charac- 
ter, and in their turn becoming causes; thus intertwining, 
as Past arid Future ever do. 

But it is urged that Indians who have been put to schools 
and colleges, still remained attached to a roving life ; away 
from all these advantages, 

"His blanket tied with yellow strings, the Indian of the forest went." 

And what if he did ? Do not white, young men who have 
been captured by savages in infancy, show an equally 
strong disinclination to take upon themselves the restraints 
of civilized life ? Does anybody urge that this well- 
knowm fact proves the white race incapable of civilization? 
You ask, perhaps, what becomes of my theory that races 
and individuals are the product of ages, if the influences of 
half a life produce the same effects on the Caucasian and 
the Indian ? I answer, that white children brought up 
among Indians, though they strongly imbibe the habits of 
the race, are generally prone to be the geniuses and pro- 
phets of their tribe. The organization of nerve and brain 
has been changed by a more harmonious relation between 
the animal and the spiritual ; and this comparative harmo- 
ny has been produced by the influences of Judea, and 



FROM N EW-YORK. 251 

Greece, and Rome, and the age of chivalry ; though of all 
these things the young man never heard. 

Similar influences brought to bear on the Indians or the 
Africans, as a race, would gradually change the structure 
of their skulls, and enlarge their perceptions of moral and 
intellectual truth. The same influences cannot be brought 
to bear upon them; for ^/^ezV Past is not our Past; and of 
course never can be. But let ours mingle with theirs, and 
you will find the result variety, without inferiority. They 
will be flutes on different notes, and so harmonize the better. 

And how is this elevation of all races to be effect- 
ed ? By that which worketh all miracles, in the name of 
Jesus. — The law of love. We must not teach as supe- 
riors ; we must love as brothers. Here is the great de- 
ficiency in all our efforts for the ignorant and the criminal. 
We stand apart from them, and expect them to feel grate- 
ful for our condescension in noticing them at all. We do 
not embrace them warmly with our sympathies, and put our 
souls into their soul's stead. 

But even under this great disadvantage ; accustomed to 
our smooth, deceitful talk, when we want their lands, and 
to the cool villany with which we break treaties when our 
purposes are gained ; receiving gunpowder and rum from 
the very hands which retain from them all the better in- 
fluences of civilized life ; cheated by knavish agents, 
cajoled by government, and hunted with bloodhounds — 
still, under all these disadvantages, the Indians have shown 
that they can be civilized. Of this, the Choctaws and 
Cherokees are admirable proofs. Both these tribes have 
a regularly-organized, systematic government, in the de- 
mocratic form, and a printed constitution. The right of 
trial by jury, and other principles of a free government, 
are established on a permanent basis. They have good 
farms, cotton-gins, saw-mills, schools, and churches. Their 
dwellings are generally comfortable, and some of them are 



252 LETTERS 

handsome. The last annual message of the chief of the 
Cherokees is a highly-interesting document, which would 
not compare disadvantageously with any of our governors' 
messages. It states that more than $2,500,000 are due to 
them from the United States ; and recommends that this 
sum be obtained, and in part distributed among the people ; 
but that the interest of the school fund be devoted to the 
maintenance of schools, and the diffusion of knowledge. 

There was a time when our ancestors, the ancient Bri- 
tons, went nearly without clothing, painted their bodies in 
fantastic fashion, offered up human victims to uncouth 
idols, and lived in hollow trees, or rude habitations, which 
we should now consider unfit for cattle. Making all due 
allowance for the different state of the world, it is much to 
be questioned whether they made more rapid advancement 
than the Cherokees and Choctaws. 

It always fills me with sadness to see Indians surrounded 
by the false environment of civilized life ; but I never felt 
so deep a sadness, as I did in looking upon these western 
warriors ; for they were evidently the noblest of their dwind- 
ling race, unused to restraint, accustomed to sleep beneath 
the stars. And here they were, set up for a two-shilling 
show, with monkeys, fliamingoes, dancers, and buffoons ! If 
they understood our modes of society well enough to be 
aware of their degraded position, they would doubtless quit 
it, with burning indignation at the insult. But as it is, they 
allow women to examine their beads, and children to play 
with their wampum, with the most philosophic indifference. 
In their imperturbable countenances, I thought I could once 
or twice detect a slight expression of scorn at the eager 
curiosity of the crowd. The Albiness, a short woman, 
•with pink eyes, and hair like white floss, was the only ob- 
ject that visibly amused them. The young chiefs nodded 
to her often, and exchanged smiling remarks with each 
Other, as they looked at her. Upon all the buffooneries 



FROM NEW-YORK. 253 

and ledgerdermain tricks of the 'Museum, they gazed as 
unmoved as John Knox himself could have done. I would 
have given a good deal to know their thoughts, as mimic 
chies, and fairy grottoes, and mechanical dancing figures, 
rose and sunk before them. The mechanical figures 
were such perfect imitations of life, and went through so 
many vvonderful evolutions, that they might well surprise 
even those accustomed to the marvels of mechanism. But 
Indians, who pay religious honours to venerable rocks, and 
moss-grown trees, who believe that brutes have souls, as 
well as men, and that all nature is filled with spirits, might 
well doubt whether ihere was not here some supernatural 
agency, either good or evil. I would suffer almost any- 
thing, if my soul could be transmigrated into the She 
Wolf, or the Productive Pumpkin, and their souls pass 
consciously into my frame, for a few days, that I might ex- 
perience the fashion of their thoughts and feelings. Was 
there ever such a foolish wish ! The soul is Me, and is 
Thee. I might as well put on their blankets, as their 
bodies, for purposes of spiritual insight. In that other 
world, shall we be enabled to know exactly how heaven, 
and earth, and hell, appear to other persons, nations, and 
tribes 1 I would it might be so ; for I have an intense de- 
sire for such revelations. I do not care to travel to Rome, 
or St. Petersburg, because I can only look at people ; 
and I want to look into them, and ihrovgli them ; to know 
how things appear to their spiritual eyes, and sound to their 
spiritual ears. This is a universal want ; hence the in- 
tense interest taken in autobiography, by all classes of 
readers. Oh, if any one had but the courage to write the 
whole truth of himself, undisguised, as it appears before the 
eye of God and angels, the world \vould read it, and it 
would soon be translated into all the dialects of the universe. 
But these children of the forest, do not even give us 
glimpses of their inner life ; for they consider that the body 



254 'LETTERS 

was given to conceal the emotions of the soul. The stars 
look down into their hearts, as into mine, the broad ocean, 
glittering in the moonbeams, speaks to them of the In- 
finite ; and doubtless the wild flowers and the sea-shells, 
** talk to them a thougrht." But what thoughts, what re vela- 
tions of the infinite ? This would I give the world to know ; 
but the world cannot buy an answer. 

How foreign is my soul to that of the beautiful Do-Hum- 
Me ! How helpless should I be in situations were she 
would be a heroine ; and how little could she comprehend 
my eager thought, which seeks the creative three-in-one 
throughout the universe, and finds it in every blossom, and 
every mineral. Between Wa-Con-To-Kitch-Er, and the 
German Herder, what a distance ! Yet are they both pro- 
phets ; and though one looks through nature with the pitch- 
pine torch of the wilderness, and the other is lighted by a 
whole constellation of suns, yet have both learned, in their 
degree, that matter is only the time-garment of the spirit. 
The stammering utterance with which the Iowa seer re- 
veals this, it were worth a kingdom to hear, if we could 
but borrow the souls of his tribe, while they listen to his 
visions. 

It is a general trait with the Indian tribes to recognise 
the Great Spirit in every little child. They rarely refuse 
a child anything. When their revenge is most implacable, 
a little one is often sent to them, adorned with flowers and 
shells, and taught to lisp a prayer that the culprit may be 
forgiven ; and such mediation is rarely without efi*ect, even 
on the sternest warrior. This trait alone is sufficient to 
establish their relationship with Herder, Richter, and other 
spirits of angel-stature. Nay, if w^e could look back a few 
centuries, we should find the ancestors of Shakspeare, and 
the fastidiously-refined Goethe, with painted cheeks, wolves' 
teeth for jewels, and boars' hides for garments. Perhaps 
the universe could not have passed before the vision of 



FROM NEW. YORK. 255 

those star-like spirits, except through the forest life of such 
wild ancestry. 

Some theorists say that the human brain, in its formation, 
" changes with a steady rise, through a likeness to one 
animal and then another, till it is perfected in that of man, 
the highest animal." It seems to be so with the nations, 
in their progressive rise out of barbarism. I was never 
before so much struck with the animalism of Indian cha- 
racter, as I was in the frirrhtful war-dance of these chiefs. 
Their gestures were as furious as wild-cats, they howled 
like wolves, screamed like prairie dogs, and tramped like 
buffaloes. Their faces were painted fiery red, or with 
cross-bars of green and red, and they were decorated with 
all sorts of uncouth trappings of hair, and bones, and teeth. 
That which regulated their movements, in lieu of music, 
was a discordant clash ; and altogether they looked and 
acted more like demons from the pit, than anything I ever 
imagined. It was the natural and appropriate language of 
War. The wolfish howl, and the wild-cat leap, represent 
it more truly than graceful evolutions, and the Marseilles 
hymn. Thai music rises above mere brute vengeance ; it 
breathes, in fervid ecstacy, the souVs aspiration after free- 
dom — the strugrorle of will with fate. It is the Future set- 
ting sail from old landings, and merrily piping all hands on 
board. It is too noble a voice to belong to physical war- 
fare ; the shrill howl of old Nan-Nouce-Fush-E-To, is good 
enough for such brutish work : it clove the brain like a 
tomahawk, and was hot with hatred. 

In truth, that war-dance was terrific both to eye and ear. 
I looked at the door, to see if escape were easy, in case 
they really worked themselves up to the scalping point. 
For the first time, I fully conceived the sacrifices and perils 
of Puritan settlers. Heaven have mercy on the mother 
who heard those dreadful yells when they really foreboded 



256 LETTERS 

murder ! or who suddenly met such a group of grotesque 
demons in the loneliness of the forest ! 

But instantly I felt that I was wronging them in my 
thought. Through paint and feathers, I saw gleams of 
right honest and friendly expression ; and I said, we are 
children of the same Father, seeking the same home. If 
the Puritans suffered frora their savage hatred, it was be- 
cause they met them with savage weapons, and a savage 
spirit. Then I thought of William Penn's treaty with the 
Indians ; " the only one ever formed without an oath, and 
the only one that was never broken," I thought of the 
deputation of Indians, who, some years ago, visited Phila- 
delphia, and knelt with one spontaneous impulse around the 
monument of Penn. 

Again I looked at the yelling savages in their grim array, 
stamping through the war-dance, with a furious energy that 
made the floor shake, as by an earthquake ; and I said, 
These, too, would bow, like little children, before the per- 
suasive power of Christian love ! Alas, if we had but faith 
in this divine principle, what mountains of evil might be 
removed into the depths of the sea. 

P. S. Alas, poor Do-Hum-Me is dead; so is No-See, 
Black Hawk's niece ; and several of the chiefs are indis- 
posed. Sleeping by hot anthracite fires, and then exposed 
to the keen encounters of the wintry wind ; one hour, half 
stifled in the close atmosphere of theatres and crowded sa- 
loons, and the next, driving through snowy streets and the 
midnight air ; this is a process which kills civilized people 
by inches, but savages at a few strokes. 

Do-Hum-Me was but nineteen years old, in vigorous 
health, when I saw her a few days since, and obviously so 
happy in her newly wedded love, thcfl it ran over at her ex- 
pressive eyes, and mantled her handsome face like a veil 
of sunshine. Now she rests among the trees, in Green- 
wood Cemetery ; not the trees that whispered to her child- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 257 

hood. Her coffin was decorated according to Indian cus- 
tom, and deposited with the ceremonies peculiar to her 
people. Alas, for the handsome one, how lonely she sleeps 
here ! Far, far away from him, to whom her eye turned 
constantly, as the sunflower to the light! 

Sick, and sad at heart, this noble band of warriors, with 
melancholy steps, left the pestilential city last week, for 
their own broad prairies in the West. Do-Hum-Me was 
the pride and idol of them all. The old Iowa chief, the 
head of the deputation, was her father ; and notwithstand- 
ing the stoicism of Indian character, it is said that both he 
and the bereaved young husband were overwhelmed with 
an agony of grief. They obviously loved each other most 
strongly. May the Great Spirit grant them a happy meet- 
ing in their " fair hunting grounds " beyond the sky. 



LETTER XXXVII. 

March, 1843. 

When I began to write these letters, it was simply as a 
safety-valve for an expanding spirit, pent up like steam in 
a boiler. I told you they would of be every fashion, accord- 
ing to my changing mood ; now a mere panorama of passing 
scenes, then childlike prattle about birds or mosses ; now a 
serious exposition of facts, for the reformer's use, and then 
the poet's path, on winged Pegasus, far up into the blue. 

To-day I know not what I shall write ; but I think I shall 
be oflf to the sky ; for my spirit is in that mood when smiling 
faces peep through chinks in the clouds, and angel fingers 
beckon and point upward. As I grow older, these glimpses 
into the spiritual become more and more clear, and all the 
visible stamps itself on my soul, a daguerreotype image of 
the invisible, written with sunbeams. 



25a LETTERS 

I sometimes ask myself, Will it continue to be so ? For 
coming aje casts its shadow before; and the rarest of at- 
tainments is to srrovr old happily and gracefully. "When I 
look around among the old people of my acquaintance, I 
am frightened to see how large a proportion are a burden to 
themselves, and an annoyance to others. The joyfulness 
of youth excites in them no kindlier feeling than gloom, and 
lucky is it, if it does not encounter angry rebuke or super- 
cilious contempt. The happiness of lovers has a still worse 
effect ; it frets them until they become like the man with 
a toothache, whose irritation impelled him to kick poor puss, 
because she was sleeping so comfortably in the sunshine. 

If this state were an inevitable attendant upon advanced 
years, then indeed would long life be an unmitigated curse. 
But there is no such necessity imposed upon us. We make 
old age cheerless and morose, in the same way that we 
pervert all things ; and that is,hy selfishness. We allow our- 
selves to think more of our own convenience and comfort, in 
little matters, than we do of the happiness and improvement 
of others ; and thus we lose the habit of sympathizing with 
love and joy. I pray God to enable me to guard agamst 
this. May I be ever willingr to promote the innocent plea- 
sure of others, in their awn way, even if be not mij way. 
Selfishness can blight even the abundant blossoms of youth ; 
and if carried into age, it leaves the soul like a horse en- 
closed within an arid and stony field, with plenty of ver- 
dant pastures all around him. 

Childhood itself is scarcely more lovelv than a cheerful, 
kind, sunshiny old age. 

" How I love the mellow sage, 
Smiling througli the veil of age I 
And whene'er this man of years 
In the dance of joy appears, 
Age is on his temples hung, 
But his heart — his heart is young .'"* 



FROM NEW-YORK. 259 

Here is the great secret of a bright and green old age. 
When Tithonus asked for an eternal life in the body, and 
found, to his sorrow, that immortal youth was not included 
in the bargain, it surely was because he forgot to ask the 
perpetual gift of loving and sympathizing. 

Next to this, is an intense affection for nature, and for 
all simple things. A human heart can never grow old, if it 
takes a lively interest in the pairing of birds, the re-produc- 
tion of flowers, and the changing tints of autumn-ferns. 
Nature, unlike other friends, has an exhaustless meaning, 
which one sees and hears more distinctly, the more they 
are enamoured of her. Blessed are they who hear it ; for 
through tones comes the most inward perceptions of the 
spirit. Into the ear of the soul, which reverently listens, 
Nature whispers, speaks, or warbles, most heavenly arcana. 

And even they who seek her oiily through science, re- 
ceive a portion of her own tranquillity, and perpetual youth. 
The happiest old man I ever saw, w^as one who knew how 
the mason-bee builds his cell, and how every bird lines 
her nest ; who found pleasure in a sea-shore pebble, as 
boys do in new marbles ; and who placed every glittering 
mineral in a focus of light, under a kaleidescope of his own 
construction. The effect was like the imagined riches of 
fairy land ; and when an admiring group of happy young 
people gathered round it, the heart of the good old man 
leapt like the heart of a child. The laws of nature, as 
manifested in her infinitely various operations, were to him 
a perennial fountain of delight ; and, like her, he offered 
the joy to all. Here was no admixture of the bad excite- 
ment attendant upon ambition or controversy ; but all was 
serenely happy, as are an angel's thoughts, or an infant's 
dreams. 

Age, in its outward senses, returns again to childhood ; 
and thus should it do spiritually. The little child enters a 
rich man's house, and loves to play with the things that are 



260 LETTERS 

new and pretty ; but he thinks not of their market value, 
nor does he pride himself that another child cannot play 
with the same. The farmer's home will probably delight 
him more ; for he will love living squirrels better than 
marble greyhounds, and the merry bob o' lincoln better than 
stuffed birds from Araby the blest ; for they cannot sing into 
his heart. What he wants is life and love — the power of 
giving and receiving joy. To this estimate of things, wis- 
dom returns, after the intuitions of childhood are lost. Vir- 
tue is but innocence on a higher plane, to be attained only 
through severe conflict. Thus life completes its circle ; 
but it is a circle that rises while it revolves ; for the path 
of spirit is ever spiral, containing all of truth and love in 
each revolution, yet ever tending upward. The virtue which 
brings us back to innocence, on a higher plane of wisdom, 
may be the childhood of another state of existence ; and 
through successive conflicts, we may again complete the 
ascending circle, and find it holiness. 

The ages, too, are rising spirally ; each containing all, 
yet ever ascending. Hence, all our new things are old, 
and yet they are new. Some truth known to the ancients 
meets us on a higher plane, and we do not recognise it, 
because it is like a child of earth, which has passed up- 
ward and become an angel. Nothing of true beauty ever 
passes away. The youth of the world, which Greece em- 
bodied in immortal marble, will return in the circling Ages, 
as innocence comes back in virtue ; but it shall return 
filled with a higher life ; and that, too, shall point upward. 
Thus shall the Arts be glorified. Beethoven's music pro- 
phesies all this, and struggles after it continually ; there- 
fore, whosoever hears it, (with the inward, as well as the 
outward ear,) feels his soul spread its strong pinions, eager 
to pass " the flaming bounds of time and space," and circle 
all the infinite. 

It is a beautiful conception of Fourier's, that the Aurora 



FROM NEW-YORK. 261 

borealis is the EartKs aspiration after its glorious future ; 
and that when the moral and intellectual world are brought 
into order by the right construction of society, these rest- 
less, flashing northern lights will settle into an intensely 
radiant circle lound the poles, melt all the ice, and bring 
into existence new flowers of unknown beauty. 

Astronomers almost contemporary with Fourier, and pro- 
bably unacquainted with his theory of re-constructing so- 
ciety, have suggested the idea of progressive changes in 
the earth's motions, till her poles shall be brought into 
exact harmony with the poles of the heavens, and thus 
perpetual spring pervade the whole earth. 

It is a singular fact, too, that the groups and series 
of Fourier's plan of society are in accordance with 
Swedenborg's description of the order in heaven. It 
is said that Fourier never read Swedenborg ; yet has he 
embodied his spiritual order in political economy, as per- 
fectly as if he had been sent to answer the prayer, '* Thy 
kingdom come on earth, as it is in heaven." 

Visions ! idle visions ! exclaims the man of mere facts. 
Very well, friend ; walk by the light of thy lantern, if it 
be sufficient for thee. I ask thee not to believe in these 
visions ; for peradventure thou canst not. But said I not 
truly that their faces smile through chinks in the clouds, 
and that their fingers beckon and point upicard 1 



LETTER XXXVIII. 

March 17, 1843. 

Here it is the 17th of March, and I was rejoicing that 
•winter had but a fortnight longer to live, and imagination 
already began to stir its foot among last year's fallen leaves, 
in search of the hidden fragrant treasures of the trailing 



263 LETTERS 

arbutus — when lo, there comes a snow-storm, the wildest 
and most beautiful of the season ! The snow-spirit has been 
abroad, careering on the wings of the wind, in the finest 
style imaginable ; throwing diamonds and ermine mantles 
around him, with princely prodigality. 

" And when his hours are numbered, and the world 
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, 
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 
To mimic, in slow structures, stone by stone, 
Built in an age, the mad wind's night work. 
The frolic architecture of the snow.'' 

I had wealth of fairy splendor on my windows this morn- 
ing. Alpine heights, cathedral spires, and glittering grot- 
toes. It reminded me of the days of my youth, when on 
the shores of the Kennebec I used to watch to see " the 
river go down," as the rafters expressed it. A magnificent 
spectacle it was, in those seasons when huge masses of ice 
w^ere loosened by sudden warmth, and came tumbling over 
the falls, to lie broken into a thousand fantastic shapes of 
beauty. Trees, mountains, turrets, spires, broken columns, 
went sailing alontr, glancing and glittering in the moon- 
light, like petrified Fata-Morgana of Italian skies, with the 
rainbows frozen out. And here I had it painted in crystal, 
by the wild artist whom I heard at his work in the night- 
time, between my dreams, as he went by with the whistling 
storm. 

'• Nature, dear goddess," is so beautiful ! always so beau- 
tiful ! Every little flake of the snow is such a perfect crys- 
tal ; and they fall together so gracefully, as if fairies of the 
air caught water-drops, and made them into artificial flowers 
to garland the wings of the wind ! Oh, it is the saddest of 
all things, that even one human soul should dimly perceive 
the Beauty, that is ever around us, '' a perpetual benedic- 
tion." Xature, that great missionary of the Most High, 
preaches to us for ever in all tones of love, and writes truth 



FROM NEW-YORK. 263 

in all colours, on manuscripts illuminated with stars and 
flowers. But we are not in harmony with the whole, and 
so we understand her not. 

Here and there, a spirit less at discord with Nature, 
hears semitones in the ocean and the wind, and when the 
stars look into his heart, he is stirred with dim recollections, 
of a universal language, which would reveal a//, if he only 
remembered the alphabet. " When one stands alone at 
night, amidst unfettered Nature," says Bettine, " it seems 
as though she were a spirit praying to man for release ! And 
should man set Nature free 1 I must at some time reflect 
upon this : but I have already very often had this sensa- 
tion, as if wailing Nature plaintively begged something of 
me; and it cut me to the heart, not to be able to understand 
what she would have. I must consider seriously of this ; 
perhaps I may discover something which shall raise us 
above this earthly life." 

Well may Nature beg plaintively of man ; for all that 
disturbs her harmony flows from his spirit. Age after age, 
she has toiled patiently, manifesting in thunder and light- 
ning, tempest and tornado, the evils which man produces, 
and thus striving to restore the equilibrium which he dis- 
turbs. Every thing else seeks earnestly to live according 
to the laws of its being, and therefore each has individual 
excellence, the best adapted of all things to its purpose. 
Because Nature is earnest, spontaneous, and true, she is 
perfect. Art, though it makes a fair show, produces noth- 
ing perfect. Look through a powerful microscope at the 
finest cambric needle that ever was manufactured, and it 
shall seem blunt as a crowbar ; but apply the same test to 
the antennce of a beetle or a butterfly, and thou wilt see 
them taper to an invisible point. That man's best works 
should be such bungling imitations of Nature's infinite per- 
fection, matters not much ; but that he should make himself 
an imitation, this is the fact which Nature moans over, and 



264 LETTERS 

deprecates beseechingly. Be spontaneous, be truthful, be 
free, and thus be individuals ! is the song she sings through 
warbling birds, and whispering pines, and roaring waves, 
and screeching winds. She wails and implores, because 
man keeps her in captivity, and he alone can set her free. 
To those who rise above custom and tradition, and dare to 
trust their own wings never so little above the crowd, how 
eagerly does she throw her garland ladders to tempt them 
upward ! How beautiful, how angelic, seems every frag- 
ment of life which is earnest and true ! Every man can 
be really great, if he will only trust his own highest instincts, 
think his own thoughts, and say his own say. The stupid- 
est fellow, if he would but reveal, with childlike honesty, 
how he feels, and what he thinks, when the stars wink at 
him, when he sees the ocean for the first time, when music 
comes over the waters, or when he and his beloved look 
into each others' eyes, — would he but reveal this, the world 
would hail him as a genius, in his way, and would prefer 
his story to all the epics that ever were written, from Homer 
to Scott. 

•' The commonest mind is full of thought, some worthy of the rarest ; 
And could it see them fairly writ, would wonder at its wealth." 

Nay, there is truth in the facetious assertion of Carlyle, 
that the dog, who sits looking at the moon so seriously* 
would doubtless be a poet, if he could but find a, publisher. 
Of this thing be assured, no romance was ever so interest- 
ing, as would be a right comprehension of that dog's rela- 
tion to the moon, and of the relation of both to all things, 
and of all things to thyself, and of thyself, to God. Some 
glimmering of this mysterious relation of each to All may 
disturb the dog's mind with a strange solemnity, until he 
fancies he sees another dog in the moon, and howls thereat. 
Could his howl be translated and published, it might teach 
us somewhat that the wisest has not yet conjectured. 



FROM NEW-YORK. 265 

Let not the matter-of-fact reader imggine me to say that 
it is difficult for puppies to find publishers. The frothy sea 
of circulating literature would prove such assertion a most 
manifest falsehood. Nor do I assert that puerile and com- 
mon-place minds are diffident about making books. There 
is babbling more than enough; but among it all, one finds 
little true speech, or true silence. The dullest mind has 
spme beauty peculiarly its own; but it echoes, and does not 
speak itself. It strives to write as schools have taught, as 
custom dictates, or as sects prescribe ; and so it stammers, 
and makes no utterance. Nature made us individuals, as 
she did the flowers and the pebbles ; but we are afraid to 
be peculiar, and so our society resembles a bag of marbles, 
or a string of mould candles. Why should we all dress 
after the same fashion 1 The frost never paints my win- 
dows twice alike. 

As I write, I look round for the sparkling tracery ; it is 
gone, and I shall never see a copy. Well, I will not mourn 
for this. The sunshine has its own glorious beauty, and 
my spirit rejoices therein, even more than in the graceful 
pencilings of the snow. All kinds of beauty have I loved 
with fervent homage. Above all, do I worship it in its 
highest form; that of a sincere and loving soul. Even here 
in the city, amid bricks and mortar, and filth and finery, I 
find it in all its manifestations, from the animal to the god- 
like. 

This morning, our pavements were spread with jewelled 
ermine, more daintily prepared than the foot. cloth of an 
Eastern queen. But now the world has travelled through 
it, as it does through the heart of a politician, and every 
pure drift is mud-bespattered. But there is still the beauty 
of the bells, and the graceful little shell-like sleighs, and 
the swift motions. There is something exhilarating in the 
rapid whirl of life, abroad and joyous in New-York, soon 
after a new-fallen snow. It excites somewhat of the tri- 
12 



266 LETTERS 

umphant emotion wliich one feels when riding a swift horse, 
or careering on the surging sea. It brings to my mind 
Lapland deer, and flashing Aurora, and moon-images in the 
sky, and those wonderful luminous snows, which clothe the 
whole landscape with phosphoric fire. 

But there is beauty here far beyond rich furs, and Russian 
chimes, and noble horses, or imagination of the glorious re- 
fractions in arctic skies ; for here are human hearts, faith- 
ful and loving, amid the fiercest temptations ; still genial 
and cheerful, though surrounded by storm and blight. Two 
little ragged girls went by the window just now, their scan- 
ty garments fluttering in the wind ; but their little blue hands 
were locked in each other, and the elder tenderly lifted the 
younger through the snow-drift. It was but a short time 
ago, that I passed the same children in Broadway. One 
of them had rags bound round her feet, and a pair of broken 
shoes. The other was barefoot, and she looked very red, 
for it was pinching cold. "Mary," said the other, in a 
gentle voice, " sit down on the door-step, here, and I will 
take off my rags and shoes. Your feet are cold, and you 
shall wear them the rest of the way." " Just a little while," 
replied the other ; " for they are very cold ; but you shall 
have them again, directly.'' They sat down, and made the 
friendly exchange; and away jumped the little one, her 
bare feet pattering on the cold stones, but glowing with a 
happy heart- warmth. 

You say I must make up such incidents, because you 
never see humanity under such winning aspects, in the 
streets of New- York. Nay, my friend, I do not make up 
these stories ; but I look on this ever-moving panorama of 
life, as Coleridge describes his Cupid : 

*♦ What outward form and features are, 

He guesseth but in part ; 
But what within is good and fair, 
He seeth with the heart.''* 



FROM NEW-YORK. 267 



LETTER XXXIX. 

April 27, 1843. 

There is a fine engraving of Jean Paul Richter, sur- 
rounded by floating clouds, all of which are angels' faces ; 
but so soft and shadowy, that they must be sought for to be 
perceived. It was a beautiful idea thus to environ Jean 
Paul ; for whosoever reads him, with an earnest thought- 
fulness, will see heavenly features perpetually shining 
through the golden mists or rolling vapour. 

But the picture interested me especially, because it em- 
bodied a great spiritual truth. In all clouds that surround 
the soul, there are angel faces, and we should see them if 
we were calm and holy. It is because we are impatient of 
our destiny, and do not understand its use in our eternal 
progression, that the clouds which envelope it seem like 
black masses of thunder, or cold and dismal obstructions of 
the sunshine. If man looked at his being as a whole, or 
had faith that all things were intended to bring him into 
harmony with the divine will, he would gratefully acknow- 
ledge that spiritual dew and rain, wind and lightning, cloud 
and sunshine, all help his growth, as their natural forms 
bring to maturity the flowers and the grain. *' Whosoever 
quarrels with his fate, does not understand it," says Bet- 
tine ; and among all her inspired sayings, she spake none 
wiser. 

Misfortune is never mournful to the soul that accepts it ; 
for such do always see that every cloud is an angel's face. 
Every man deems that he has precisely the trials and 
temptations which are the hardest of all others for him to 
bear; but they are so, simply because they are^the very 
ones he most needs. 

I admit the truth of Bulwer's assertion, that " long ad- 



268 LETTERS 

versity usually leaves its prey somewhat chilled, and some- 
what hardened to affection; passive and quiet of hope, re- 
signed to the worst, as to the common order of events, and 
expecting little from the best, as an unlooked for incident 
in the regularity of human afflictions." But I apprehend 
this remark is mainly applicable to pecuniary difficulties, 
which, " in all their wretched and entangling minutiae, like 
the diminutive cords by which Gulliver was bound, tame 
the strongest mind, and quell the most buoyant spirit." 

These vexations are not man's natural destiny, and there- 
fore are not healthy for his soul. They are produced by 
a false structure of society, which daily sends thousands 
of kind and generous hearts down to ruin and despair, in 
its great whirl of falsity and wrong. These are victims of 
a stinging grief, which has in it nothing divine, and brings 
no healing on its wings. 

But the sorrow which God appoints is purifying and en- 
nobling, and contains within it a serious joy. Our Father 
saw that disappointment and separation were necessary, 
and he has made them holy and elevating. From the 
sepulchre the stone is rolled away, and angels declare to 
the mourner, " He is not here ; he is risen. Why seek 
ye the living among the dead ?" And a voice higher than 
the angels, proclaims, " Because I live, ye shall live also." 

" There is no Death to those who know of hfe ; 
No Time to those who see Eternity." 

Blessed indeed are the ministrations of sorrow ! Through 
it, we are brought into more tender relationship to all other 
forms of being, obtain a deeper insight into the mystery of 
eternal life, and feel more distinctly the breathings of the infi- 
nite. " All sorrow raises us above the civic, ceremonial 
law, and makes the prosaist a psalmist," says Jean Paul. 

Whatsoever is highest and holiest is tinged with melan- 
choly. The eye of genius has always a plaintive expres- 



FROM NEW-YORK. 269 

sion, and its natural language is pathos. A prophet is sad- 
der than other men ; and He who was greater than all pro- 
phets, was " a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." 

Sorrow connects the soul with the invisible and the ever- 
lasting ; and therefore all things prophesy it, before it comes 
to us. The babe weeps at the wail of music, though he is 
a stranger to grief; and joyful yoimg hearts are saddened 
by the solemn brightness of the moon. When men try to 
explain the oppressive feelings inspired by moonlight and 
the ever silent stars, they say it is as if spirits were near. 
Thus Bettine writes to Giinderode " In the night was 
something confidential, which allured me as a child ; and 
before I ever heard of spirits, it seemed as if there was 
something living near me, in whose protection I trusted. 
So was it with me on the balcony, when a child three or 
four years old, when all the bells were tolling for the em- 
peror's death. As it always grew more nightly and cool, 
and nobody with me, it seemed as if the air was full of bell- 
chimes, which surrounded me ; then came a gloom over my 
little heart, and then again sudden composure, as if my 
guardian angel had taken me in his arms. What a great 
mystery is life, so closely embracing the soul, as the chry- 
salis the butterfly !" 

The spiritual speaks ever to us, but we hear it at such 
moments, because the soul is silent and listening, and there- 
fore the infinite pervades it. — All alone, alone, through deep 
shadows, thus only can ye pass to golden sunshine on the 
eternal shore ! this is the prophetic voice, whose sad but 
holy utterance goes deep down into the soul when it is 
alone with moonlight and stars. Under its unearthly influ- 
ence, childhood nestles closer to its mother's side, and the 
mirthful heart of youth melts inio tears. It is as if the 
cross upreared its dark shadow before the vision of the in- 
fant Saviour. 

As we grow older, this prophecy becomes experience. 
12* * 



270 LETTERS 

By the hand of Sorrow the finite is rolled away like a 
scroll, and we stand consciously in the presence of the in- 
finite and the eternal. The wailing of the autumn wind, 
the lone stubble waving in the wintry field, the falling 
foliage, and the starry stillness, are no longer a luxury of 
sadness, as in the days of youthful imagination. The voice 
of wailing has been wiJiin us ; our loved ones have left us, 
and we are like the lone stubble in the once blooming field ; 
the leaves of our hopes are falling withered around us ; 
and the midnight stillness is filled with dreary echoes of 
the past. 

Oh, Father, how fearful is this pilgrimage! — Alone in the 
twilight, and voices from the earth, the air, and the sky, call, 
" Whence art thou ? — Whither goest thou ?" And none 
makes answer. Behind us comes the voice of the Past, 
like the echo of a bell travelling through space for a thou- 
sand years ; and all it utters is, " As thou art, I was." Be- 
fore us stands the Future, a shadow robed in vapour, 
with a far-oflf sunlight shining through. The Present is 
around us — passing away — passing away. And we ? Oh, 
Father ! fearful indeed is this earth pilgrimage, when the 
soul has learned that all its sounds are echoes,— all its 
siahts are shadows. 

But lo! the clouds open, and a face serene and hopeful 
looks forth, and says, Be thou as a little child, and thus 
shalt thou become a seraph. The shadows which perplex 
thee are all realities ; the echoes are all from the eternal 
voice which gave to light its being. All the changing forms 
around thee are but images of the infinite and the true, 
seen in the mirror of time, as they pass by, each on a hea- 
venly mission. Be thou as a little child. Thy Father's 
hand will guide thee home. 

I bow my head in silent humility. I cannot pray that 
afilictions may not visit me. 1 know why it was that Mrs. 
Fletcher said, " Such prayers never seem to have wings." 



FROM NEW. YORK. 271 

I am willing to be purified through sorrow, and to accept it 
meekly as a blessing. I see that all the clouds are angeU' 
faces, and their voices speak harmoniously of the everlast- 
ing chime. 



LETTER XL. 

May 1, 1843. 

The first of May ! Hov/ the phrase is twined all round 
with violets ; and clumps of the small Housitania, (which 
remind me of a " Sylvania phalanx " of babies :) and slight 
anemones, nodding gracefully as blooming maidens, under 
the old moss-grown trees ! How it brings up visions of fair 
young floral queens, and garlanded May-poles, and door-posts 
wreathed with flowers, and juvenile choirs hymning the re- 
turn of the swallows, in the ancient time ! The old French 
word Mes, signifies a garden ; and in Lorraine, 3Iai still 
has that meaning ; from which, perhaps, the word maiden. 
In Brittany, Mae signifies green, flourishing ; the Dutch 
Mooy, means beautiful, agreeable; the Swedish iMT/o is 
small, pretty and pleasant ; and the East India Maya is 
Goddess of Nature. Thus, have men shown their love of 
this genial month, by connecting its name with images of 
youth and loveliness. 

In our climate, it happens frequently, that " Winter lin- 
gering, chills the lap of May," and we are often tantalized 
with promises unfulfilled. But though our Northern In- 
dians named June " the month of flowers," yet with all her 
abundant beauty, I doubt whether she commends herself to 
the heart, like May, with her scanty love-tokens from the 
grave of the frosty past. They are like infancy, like re- 
surrection, like everything new and fresh, and full of hope- 
fulness and promise. 

The First, and the Last ! Ah, in all human things, how 



272 LETTERS 

does one idea forever follow the other, like its shadow ! 
The circling year oppresses me with its fulness of meaning. 
Youth, manhood, and old age, are its most external sig- 
nificance. It is symbolical of things far deeper, as every 
soul knows, that is travelling over steep hills, and through 
quiet valleys, unto the palace called Beautiful, like Bun- 
yan's world-renowned Pilgrim. Human life, in its forever- 
repeating circle, like Nature, in her perpetual self-restoring 
beauty, tells us that from the burial place of Winter, young 
Spring shall come forth to preach resurrection ; and thus 
it must be in the outward and symbolical, because thus it 
is in the inward, spiritual progression of the soul. 

" Two children in two neighbour villages, 
Playing mad pranks along the heathy lees ; 
Two strangers meeting at a festival ; 
Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall ; 
Two lives bomid fast in one, with golden ease ; 
Two graves grass green beside a gray church-tower, 
Washed with still rains, and daisy-blossomed ; 
Two children in one hamlet born and bred ; 
So rmis the round of hfe from hour to hour." 

Blessings on the Spring-time, when Nature stands like 
young children hand in hand, in prophecy of future mar- 
riage ! 

May-day in New- York, is the saddest thing, to one who 
has been used to hunting mosses by the brook, and paddling 
in its waters. Brick walls, instead of budding trees, and 
rattling wheels in lieu of singing birds, are bad enough ; 
but to make the matter worse, all New- York moves on the 
first of May ; not only moves about, as usual, in the ever- 
lasting hurry-scurry of business, but one house empties it- 
self into another, all over the city. The streets are full of 
loaded drays, on which tables are dancing, and carpets 
rolling to and fro. Small chairs, which bring up such 
pretty, cozy images of rolly-pooly mannikens and maidens, 



^i FROM NEW-YORK. 273 

eating supper from tilted porringers, and spilling the milk 
on their night-gowns — these go ricketting along on the tops 
of beds and bureaus, and not unfrequently pitch into the 
street, and so fall asunder. Children are driving hither and 
yon, one with a flower-pot in his hand, another with work- 
box, band-box, or oil-canakin ; each so intent upon his im- 
portant mission, that all the world seems to him (as it does 
to many a theologian,) safely locked up within the little 
walls he carries. Luckily, both boy and bigot are mistaken, 
or mankind would be in a bad box, sure enough. The dogs 
seem bewildered with this universal transmigration of 
bodies ; and as for the cats, they sit on the door-steps, 
mewing piteously, that they were not born in the middle 
ages, or at least, in the quiet old portion of the world. And 
I, who have almost as strong a love of localities as poor 
puss, turn away from the windows, with a suppressed 
anathema on the nineteeth century, with its perpetual 
changes. Do you want an appropriate emblem of this 
country, and this age ? Then stand on the side-walks of 
New- York, and watch the universal transit on the first of 
May. The facility and speed with which our people change 
politics, and move from sect to sect, and from theory to 
theory, is comparatively slow and moss-grown ; unless, in- 
deed, one excepts the Rev. O. A. Brownson, who seems to 
stay in any spiritual habitation a much shorter time than 
the New-Yorkers do in their houses. It is the custom 
here, for those who move out to leave the accumulated 
dust and dirt of the year, for them who enter to clear up. 
I apprehend it is somewhat so with all the ecclesiastical 
and civil establishments, which have so long been let out 
to tenants in rotation. Those who enter them, must make 
a great sweeping and scrubbing, if they would have a clean 
residence. 

That people should move so often in this city, is general- 
ly a matter of their own volition. Aspirations after the in- 



274 LETTERS ^ 

finite, lead them to perpetual change, in the restless hope 
of finding something better and better still. But they would 
not raise the price of drays, and subject themselves to great 
inconvenience, by moving all on one day, where it not that 
the law compels everybody who intends to move at all, to 
quit his premises before twelve o'clock, on May morning. 
Failing to do this, the police will put him and his goods 
into the street, where they will fare much like a boy beside 
an upset hornet's nest. The object of this regulation is to 
have the Directory for the year arranged with accuracy. 
For, as theologians, and some reformers, can perceive no 
higher mission for human souls than to arrange themselves 
rank and file in sectarian platoons, so the civil authorities 
do not apprehend that a citizen has any more important ob- 
ject for living, just at this season, than to have his name 
set in a well-ordered Directory. 

However, human beings are such creatures of habit and 
imitation, that what is necessity soon becomes fashion, and 
each one wishes to do what everybody else is doing. A 
lady in the neighbourhood closed all her blinds and shutters, 
on May-day ; being asked by her acquaintance whether 
she had been in the country, she answered, " I was 
ashamed not to be moving on the first of May ; and so I 
shut up the house that the neighbours might not know it." 
One could not well imagine a fact more characteristic of 
the despotic sway of custom and public opinion, in the 
United States, and the nineteenth century. Elias Hick's 
remark, that it takes " Zz'ye fish to swim up stream," is 
emphatically true of this age and country, in which liberty- 
caps abound, but no one is allowed to wear them. 

I am by temperament averse to frequent changes, either 
in my spiritual or material abodes. I think I was made for 
a German ; and that my soul in coming down to earth, got 
drifted away by some side-wind, and so was wafted into 
the United States, to take up its abode in New- York. Jeaa 



FROM NEW-YORK. 275 

Paul, speaking of the quiet habits of the Germans, says he 
does not believe they turn in their beds so often as the 
French do. 0, for one of those old German homes, 
where the same stork, with his children and grandchildren, 
builds on the same roof, generation after generation ; where 
each family knows its own particular stork, and each stork 
knows the family from all the world beside. Oh, for a quiet 
nook in good old Nuremberg, where still flourishes the lime 
tree, planted seven hundred years ago, by empress Cune- 
gunde ; where the same family inhabits the same mansion for 
five centuries ; where cards are still sold in the same house 
where cards were first manufactured ; and where the great 
grandson makes watches in the same shop that was occu 
pied by his watchmaking great-grandfather. 

But after all, this is a foolish, whining complaint. A 
stork's nest is very pleasant, but there are better things. 
Man is moving to his highest destiny through manifold re- 
volutions of spirit; and the outward must change with the 
inward. 

It is selfish and unwise to quarrel with this spiritual 
truth or its ultimate results, however inconvenient they 
may be. The old fisherman, who would have exterminat- 
ed steam-boats, because they frightened the fish away from 
the waters where he had baited them for years, was by no 
means profound in his social views, or of expansive be- 
nevolence. 

If the world were filled with difierent tribes of Nu- 
rembergers, with their storks, what strangers should we 
brethren of the human household be to each other ! Thanks 
to Carlyle, who has brought England and America into such 
close companionship with the mind of Germany. Thanks 
to Mary Howitt, who has introduced Frederika Bremer in- 
to our homes, like a sunbeam of spring, and thus changed 
Sweden from a snowy abstraction to a beautiful and healthy 
reality. It is so pleasant to look into the hearts and eyes 



'*^ .3s' 



276 LETTERS 

of those Northren brothers ! To be conveyed to their 
firesides by a process so much swifter than steam ? 

Do you fear that the patriot will be lost in the cosmopo- 
lite ? Never fear. We shall not love our own household 
less, because we love others more. In the beautiful words 
of Frederika : *' The human heart is like Heaven ; the 
more angels, the more room." 






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